Dyed Crimson
by The Weaver Atropos
Summary: A decoy mission brings about tragedy when Ken, forced to impersonate Aya, finds the boundaries between who he is, and who he is pretending to be, blurring. RanKen
1. Crimson I

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**Dyed Crimson**  
The Weaver Atropos  
Time Frame: ((August 2, 2004 8:15 pm—?__))  
Comments: _Just something I thought up while watering my mom's plants…the idea itself has been rolling around in my head for a while, though. You can thank w-ind's 'Paradox' for this one… 

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_**Dyed Crimson, Crimson I**_

Ken glared….hard.

From the opposite side of the room, a taunting grin painted on a blonde head widened. "Almost got it there, Kenken—try to add a little more hatred in there."

Inadvertedly, and quite unconsciously, Ken's scowl deepened, eyes darkening accordingly.

"Got it. I didn't think it was possible, but yes, Ken, you have mastered _the_ glare."

Chocolate eyes locked irately onto jade ones. "I don't see why I'm the one who has to impersonate _him._ Anyone else here is just as good, if not better."

Youji grinned. Maniacally. "Not quite, Kenken. You see, while I'm sure Omi would play an awesome katana-wielding Aya Fujimiya, I'm not sure our attackers would fall for a four-foot tall, wide-eyed school boy." Youji flashed Omi an endearing smile to quench the boy's protests. "And I'm certainly not cutting—much less dyeing—my hair red. How tacky…"

This time, two equally unamused pair of eyes focused on the rambling playboy. Ken was the first to speak. "I really don't see how that's any different from my excuse. I don't wanna dye my hair either."

"Oh, Kenken," Youji waved the brunette away, "hair's just hair. It'll grow back."

A growl was all that escaped said brunette's lips.

"And honestly…Black makes my skin sallow. Not to mention that I'm not thrilled about the idea of having to slice my enemies into pieces with a sword. Neither Omi nor I are used to that much blood splattering in random directions. You and Aya are used to that. You can handle it."

Ken really had no other way to retort to that. So, after stammering annoyedly for a few seconds, he turned—furious—in Manx's direction. "Can't Kritiker _hire_ anyone! There's a damned Recon & Impersonations department, for god's sakes! It's their freakin' _job_ to imitate people…"

Manx pursed her lips to avoid making her smile all that noticeable. Although she was normally all business, she couldn't help but be amused by the brunette's almost endearing hot-headed stubbornness. "Yes. We do. However, the act would be all the more believeable if one of Weiss did it. You're around Abyssinian nearly 24 hours a day. You're familiar with his moods, his mannerisms…his growls, according to Balinese."

Amethyst eyes narrowed at jade ones, but Manx continued, oblivious of the silent exchange. "Besides, there isn't enough time for Abyssinian to be observed. The mission is in exactly one week. It would be ridiculous—suicidal—to assume anyone could imitate him convincingly in that short a time."

Ken grumbled under his breath, very much aware that there was little else he could do. The judge had spoken. And, though Ken could very much protest and give a negative to his participation in the mission, he knew that would only result in his comrade's being in danger. Most especially Aya. The brunette flashed his leader an uncertain glance. Could he? Could he successfully pretend to be Aya Fujimiya…the stern, if slightly impassive, leader of Weiss? Well, Ken had to admit Manx was right about one thing. He _did_ know Aya's quirks. After all, all he did in his spare time was take in the perfect vision that was Aya. A light blush settled in his cheeks.

He certainly didn't want Aya in danger…or the rest of Weiss, either. Biting his lower lip, and knowing he'd regret his heart-minded decision later, Ken gave his assent in a nod. "I'll do it, fine."

Manx reciprocated the action. "Here's your case file. Familiarize yourself with it. More information will be provided as the mission date approaches. Ken—"

Curiously, and wondering what else could go wrong for him, Ken raised dark brown eyes towards Manx. "Here's the name of the dye you'll need for your hair tone. You can either do this here, or," Manx paused and, after rummaging in her purse, handed him a small card, "call for a specialist. Kritiker's checked them all out. Anyone on this list is acceptable. As for other things, you know the drill. After your hair's dyed, no one's to see you with it until the mission date. Understood?"

Ken nodded, very reluctantly palming the dye and pocketing the card. Hell, but was a glorious week awaiting him! He watched, only half-awake, as Manx handed the rest of Weiss individually assorted packets, giving Omi blue-prints, hacking codes, and the like, Aya some probable assassination locations, and Youji random information.

A few minutes later, Manx was gone.

"Well," Ken reached up and ruffled his hair, blowing at the wisps that unwittingly fell into his face, "I guess I better enjoy it while it lasts."

Youji raised an amused eyebrow. Coming up behind the brunette, he draped an arm about his shoulders and grinned, "Stop being such a drama queen. You won't have to dye it until the day before the mission. And as for who'll do it, I will. As secure as Kritiker might think those 'specialists' are, we know better than to risk our cover like that."

"Youji's right."

That was Aya. Sighing, Ken nodded. The next to speak was Omi. "Aren't they going to question you, Ken-kun? I mean, they're obviously gonna be a bit unsettled when they find they've inadvertedly kidnapped an 'Aya Fujimiya' that doesn't exactly look like his picture. They might ask you some questions to make sure you're really you…or him, rather say."

Once more Aya nodded. "They will. They aren't stupid. Especially not if Schwatz is in any way associated with this. If they bring Mastermind into this, then we're screwed, but Persia says he doubts there are any collaborations going on. But, echoing Youji's thoughts, Kritiker isn't being too careful as of late. We were almost killed on last mission, and that was a dangerous slip. We might as well be working alone as of now."

They all nodded. Aya was right. Their last mission—which had taken place a little over six months ago, had left both Ken and Youji in near critical condition. Kritiker's recon agents hadn't done a very good job scouting the place. As a matter of fact, Aya doubted they'd ever even set foot in the Yamoi Building. The blueprints Weiss had been given were old, and—since the building had undergone renovations only 5 years earlier—the floorplans were scarcely the same. Thus, when the mission had been completed, albeit with complications, and Ken and Youji had made their way towards the highlighted exits, they were surprised to find sealed off office walls where their escape routes were supposed to be. Alone, and nearly at opposite sides of the building, they'd found themselves without much liberty as to what to do.

Ken, who had been in the left research wing at the time, had eased into the Chief Executive's office—which, according to the plans—held a secret exit—only to find that there was none and that he was trapped, a growing fire to the right (product of Omi's wirings) and attacking guards coming from the left. When Aya and Omi had found him, he had managed to fend off the attackers as best as he could've, but he'd been shot five times in the effort. Twice in his bugnuk arm, once in the abdomen, and his right thigh had been grazed twice. He'd nearly bled to death. He'd still been standing when they'd walked in, too…

As for Youji—Youji'd been knifed in the stomach with a wound that, had it not missed his appendix by a few centimeters, would have been fatal. Omi had fallen to his knees upon finding the older man, unconscious and curled in on himself against the cold marble floor. He'd lost a lot of color, too, his skin pale and sallow, eyes already showing the first signs of trauma—pupils dilated, color faded. Aya would've carried him up and out, had it not been that he already had Ken's weight to worry about. He had been surprised, actually, when Omi—the slight boy that he was—had picked up his comrade through tears, cumbersomely making his way out of the building, struggling against the smoke and blaring alarms.

Aya shook his head. That moment…when he'd taken sight of Ken's battered and broken form…the feeling he'd felt had rivaled that of finding his parents dead, his sister shortly falling into a coma. His heart had felt that same, painful jar…his jaw had clenched the same way…his eyes had shut in an effort to hold in the tears. And it had been bewildering…bewildering to note that he'd almost cried for Ken's sake.

Regardless…there were more important things to worry about, at the moment. For starters, Omi was right. Ken was liable to being questioned, and, should he not prove a very convincing Aya would surely be eliminated without a second thought. "Ken?"

Blank chocolate eyes looked around, searching for the one who'd called on him, before settling curiously on Aya. Pushing Youji's arm off his shoulder somewhat self-consciously, he waited for the redhead to continue. When he didn't, he simply shrugged, more to himself than at Youji, and made his way towards the computer, where Omi was currently verifying the blueprints had handed him.

"They're recent, at least," he murmured under his breath, tone hardening slightly as unwanted memories filtered back to him. Catching sight of Ken, he flashed the brunette a warm smile. "Don't worry Ken-kun. Maybe you'll like the hair style, after all."

Ken shrugged, not entirely convinced. "Maybe. Maybe not. My skin's too dark for that, I think."

Omi seemed to consider the fact. "That's true…but…thanks, Ken-kun. I know why you did it," a warm smile lit the young man's face, "and I'm thankful for it."

A soft blush seeped into Ken's bronze cheeks. "Don't worry about it. I'm just worried about the actual mission. Aya's not exactly the easiest person to imitate."

"What are you talking about?" Youji sauntered into the room, nibbling on a piece of cheese, "You just have to scowl, growl, make feral animal noises and you're set. Even the chibi could do _that_."

"I don't growl."

Three heads turned guiltily—well, two did, the third was grinning—to meet a stony face. Youji patted Ken heartily on the back, "Well, there you go. That's your first lesson. 'How to make a Human Being look like a Marble Statue, but Scarier.'"

Ken smiled despite himself, offering Aya a sympathetic glance. If he was to _be_ Aya, then it was crucial that he be on good terms with the one he was to be impersonating. At least, that way Aya would be more liable to open up; and Ken had to understand motivations before he could ever understand the front. "Come on."

"Huh?"

Aya turned at Ken's less than eloquent reaction. Motioning towards the stairs, he continued, "If you're going to be interrogated, you might as well know the answers to what they're going to ask you."

"Oh. Okay."

A bit hesitant, but not all that uncomfortable, the brunette followed Aya up the stairs, turning left once they hit the kitchen to climb the stairs towards their apartment. 'Their' in the sense that they shared the second floor of the Koneko. Nothing more. Actually, other than the one time Ken had helped carry Aya to his room, he doubted he'd ever lay a foot in the redhead's dormitory.

He walked in after Aya, feeling almost out of place in the all white room, assuaged only in the knowledge that he'd taken off his shoes at the entrance. Standing awkwardly at the door, Ken watched with inquisitive eyes as the older man methodically made his way about the room, glancing at his reflection as he walked past a mirror, the action nearly imperceptible, before settling down on the left hand side of his bed. Aware that he was being watched, but not particularly at ease with the fact, Aya's own amethyst eyes sought out the brunette's. Once he caught the man's glance, he was intrigued to note that a pale blush had settled itself in his comrade's cheeks. But he didn't apologize for the lingering stare…and Aya wasn't sure how he felt about that.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that his accepting the mission meant he was granting the hot-headed youth gratuitous looks at his general persona…but that didn't mean he was completely unflustered about it. Especially when Ken was making no move to curb his gaze.

Not that it was being intrusive. No…although the brunette _was_ looking at him—and rather steadily at that—he wasn't being improper in his glances…nor unprofessional, for that matter. No…he was limiting himself to carefully studying and analyzing the redhead's every action. And that could be unnerving for anyone—the proverbial Man of Ice, included.

"Sit down."

"Oh…"

Again, another less than eloquent remark. That was one of the first things Ken would have to control if he hoped to pass for him. Unrequited words _never_ escaped Aya's mouth. And…he was _never_ surprised. Well, realistically, he was and _could_ be, but outwardly…outwardly that surprise was undetectable. A narrowing of the eyes was the most that could give it a way. Nothing more. Certainly not an 'oh.'

Ken noted his mistake almost as soon as he'd made it. Not to mention that he'd been able to tell by Aya's disappointed expression. He wasn't going to beat around the bush about it. Ken had liked Aya for a long time. And…while he wasn't particularly sure how his sexuality was affected by the fact, he knew that the other reason why he'd taken the mission had been merely selfish one. Accepting meant that he'd be able to, for once, unabashedly look at Aya whenever he wanted without having to look away for fear of getting caught.

Regardless, after a few seconds of internal reverie, Ken sat. He mimicked Aya's pose almost subconsciously, it being something he'd always innately done, and frowned when Aya's eyes bore into his, thoroughly displeased. He hadn't done it on purpose…though, realistically, he knew that he should be copying his leader _anyway…_it was one of his hidden talents. More or less, anyway. Ken had found, through the years, that people seemed to enjoy being around him because he made them feel at ease with themselves. He postured himself so much to their liking—or, to their identity—that they couldn't help but like 'themselves.' Even in soccer matches…it was one of the things that made him such a good goalie; Ken was able to effortlessly mirror everyone's move.

"That's not how I usually sit."

Ken shrugged a bit, "I know. But it's stupid to think anyone would _always_ sit the same."

"How much do you know about me, already?"

Ken shuffled uncomfortably at the question. How much did he know? Quite a lot, actually. He knew that Aya had a sister, one that was in a coma, and he knew—through his own detective work—that Aya's parents had been killed and framed by Reiji Takatori. Aya had never really come out and told them about it…each Weiss had come to their own conclusions regarding that. He also knew that Aya had a penchant for wearing orange turtle necks, even in the middle of summer, but all that was relative. "Exactly in what sense do you mean that?"

At the question, Aya remained thoughtful. Then, finally, looking at Ken with serious lilac eyes, he responded. "My routine."

Routine?

"Okay…uh…You wake up at five in the morning, the very minute your alarm goes off. As far as I know, you haven't—to this day—ever hit the snooze button. From what I can hear from my room, you brush your teeth first, then shower—always in that order. Oh, and…you prefer Zest shampoo," Ken paused and took in Aya's startled look at the confident knowledge of the intimate fact. "And then you dress…Sometimes you go wake Omi up…and, just for the hell of it, apparently, since Youji's room is closest to the kitchen, you make a racket during breakfast. You open the shop at six, even though you know no one's going to show up until much later, and…though you cook breakfast, you hardly ever do anything but drink coffee."

Ken trailed off, "Is that enough…I mean—"

But Aya wasn't really listening. He was staring at the young man before him, wondering how someone he talked so little to, could know so very much about him. Ken shifted a bit uncomfortably. "And about me?"

Dark brown eyebrows furrowed. "About you? What about you?"

"My body."

"Oh."

Once more, dark eyebrows knit together. "I…I don't really know." And that was the truth. Ken had only every seen Aya wearing that horrid sundusk turtle-neck. And if it wasn't that, then it was his black trenchcoat. "How tall am I?"

A shrug. "Like 3 inches taller than me, I guess."

"And my weight?"

"…why is this even important?"

Aya was silent. And then, "You seem to know things about me one couldn't simply know by looking. Especially not if you don't know my height, or weight…or what my body looks like. Why _do_ you know so much? What intrigues you so much about me?"

Ken turned away. "I don't do it on purpose."

"Do what on purpose?"

"Know how you are. I just know."

Aya didn't seem convinced, but he let it go. There was no use chasing the rabbit; it would trap itself of its own accord eventually. "I take it you know about Aya, then?"

All-too-aware of what he was doing, Ken nodded, chocolate locks falling into his face to obscure his eyes. "And about everything else that happened?"

Another nod.

"You haven't read the mission files yet, have you?"

"Huh? No…why?"

"They state the reason why I'm to be the 'decoy.' Or you, since you're pretending to be me."

Ken considered the information. "And why is that?"

"Because someone knows who Weiss is. And they only know who I am. For now we can't risk any other Weiss being discovered. Relatively speaking, you and I will be the only ones exposed during the mission. Youji and Omi will be far away. Monitoring us."

That still didn't explain things, in Ken's eyes. "How'd they find out?"

"It was easy enough. There's no reason why a florist would have sufficient income to support someone in a coma in a police hospital. Not to mention that my hair makes me identifiable wherever I go."

"This could just be a stupid kid playing games—"

"Or it could be Schwartz. Or Schrient. All under the pretense of Yamoi."

"I still don't understand how my being you is supposed to help matters."

"It's simple enough. If it's a worthwhile enemy, they should have a reason for wanting me…if they can't really even tell us apart…then it's a worthless adversary. But, apparently, they think I know something I don't—or, I might actually—and Kritiker doesn't want to risk my accidentally exposing the knowledge."

* * *

Just taking my usual break from In Fear Of... 


	2. Scarlett II

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**__**Dyed Crimson**  
The Weaver Atropos_

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**_Dyed Crimson, Scarlett II_**

Ken was tired. Dead tired. He would've never thought that being Aya could be so positively exhausting. The redhead followed an almost _impossible_ schedule—not that he hadn't known that…but _knowing_ and _experiencing_ were two entirely different things. Especially since he was now expected to mimic Aya's life to a fault. "I hate Manx."

A chuckling voice eased him from his thoughts, and seeking to glare at whomever it was who had interrupted his mental rant, he raised his head from the cradle of his arms…and came face to face with Youji. Oh, how he was beginning to understand Aya's dislike for the blond. Groaning, he let his head fall back into his arms. His voice was a grumble. "What do you want?"

"Nothing much. You're really starting to be like, Aya…glaring at me wherever I go."

"Yeah, well. I haven't been sleeping. Damn it, but Aya's sword is _impossible_ to handle."

"Ah," Youji settled himself beside Ken with a nod. He could understand how that would be…especially considering it often took people _years_ to master any type of weapon. Ken was expected to do so in a week. And Aya's katana was hardly light. Made of steel and reinforced wood, it weighed at _least_ seven pounds. Knowing that, it was no wonder that Aya was so difficult to overwhelm in a fist-fight.

Regardless…Youji hated to be the bearer of bad news. "Well," he paused and ruffled the brunette's hair affectionately, "you had better get used to it. Manx wants you to use the katana in the next few missions."

Ken's head shot up, eyes looking positively aghast. Then, the anger settled in. "Is she _serious?_ How 'bout I go use that damn katana on her—" Halfway through his sentence, Ken had already shot out of his seat, trying to remember where it was he'd left the sword their leader was so fond of using. "See how she likes being sliced in half by that twenty-pound piece of—"

"Calm down, Kenken…" Youji placed a restraining hand on the soccer player's shoulder. "The mission's in three days. Two days later we hit Yamoi's. It's only natural that Manx put you up against someone who's trying to murder you for real—as…anal as Aya can be, he's not the type to _really_ try and slice you up."

Ken grumbled something under his breath. "What was that, Ken?"

"I'm having doubts about that. He sure as hell seems to be wanting to slice, dice, and mince me."

Youji's rich chuckle filled the room once more. "I doubt it…maybe you can't see it right now—and, since you can't, I'm not about to tell you…but, Aya doesn't hate you. Quite the contrary. But, I guess you'll realize that soon enough. Till then, don't let it go to your head—so, try and keep the death threats to a minimum, okay?"

A plate sailed three inches to the right of Youji's head.

Damn. Too bad aim wasn't his forte…

* * *

Aya was a lot more different than what people thought him to be. Ken drew in a deep breath and pondered over all the things he'd learned about the redhead in the past few days. For one, he was a lot stronger than what Ken had ever given him credit for. The night before, he'd nearly choked Ken to death, and if it hadn't been for the fact that he was used to it—Berserker seemed to have a knack for it—he was sure Weiss would've lost their would-be decoy.

But there was something else. Something that made him uncomfortable. Ken knitted his eyebrows and a pensive frown appeared on his lips. Last night…when he'd been with Aya, there'd been something he'd seen. A scar. Right on the back of his neck. Subconsciously, and quite unaware of what he was doing, Ken fingered his own scar, which—ironically enough—also lay at the base of his neck. Kase had given him that one…

He wondered how Aya had gotten it. He knew it hadn't been in a mission…because he'd never seen it, nor heard Aya complain of it. He supposed it could've happened sometime in his youth—before or _after_ the Takatori incident…before he joined Weiss. It was hard for him to think of a time when Aya _hadn't_ been in Weiss. In his mind, their little group had always been together…always worked at the Koneko, always eaten their ramen noodles in front of the TV…always waited for Persia's missions. He often forgot that they'd all had some sort of life before Weiss.

It made him feel nostalgic. Melancholy over his own past, wistful over the lives of the rest of his friends. Because…well, they _were_ his friends…and, Ken felt a little guilty at his lack of foresight. He'd never actually thought about how their lives could've been…or were, at some point.

Fingering the scar once more, Ken gave another sigh and continued sweeping the floor of the store, aware and careless of the fact that he'd been over the same spot more than ten times.

He had to stay with Aya again that night. Talk about the mission. But he didn't want to. He hated to hear him talk. It made him feel too guilty. Perhaps…he was starting to understand why Mastermind called himself Schuldich. It made sense to him, then…though, it really shouldn't have.

He was going crazy…he was going crazy and he knew it. But what else could he do? He'd known the moment he'd entered Weiss that he would his sanity the instant he crossed the threshold into their home. And he hadn't cared…because, as far as he'd been concerned at the time…he was already dead.

"If you keep on torturing the broom like that, I might deduct it from your paycheck. Cleaning one-twentieth of the Koneko is hardly a fulfilling shift."

Ken was startled out of his thoughts. Dropping the broom, and wincing at the series of loud crashes that followed, the brunette hid his face behind his palms. When he finally dared to inspect the damage, through a gap in his fingers, it was to find that his falling broom had taken with it an entire shelf of clay pots, arrangements, and inventory listings. He groaned.

"God…"

Aya's piercing voice broke through his thoughts once more, "I don't see any point in talking to the air, Ken. It'won't answer. It never does."

Chocolate brown eyes turned at the voice, taking in the slightly disheveled crimson locks that were framing a pale, almost sickly looking ivory face. Aya really _was_ too pale for his own good. Almost…almost like… "Like an angel…"

Aya paused in his brooming, having left his perch by the counter and begun to sweep up what remained of their newly purchased pots, and stared at Ken somewhat awkwardly. "Excuse me?"

Ken seemed to only just wake up, focusing his eyes on Aya's own with a deep pink flush. "Uh…uh…"

"The pots are coming out of your paycheck."

All Ken could do was nod…numbly. And then, "But you made me drop them--"

"I did not. You dropped them of your own accord."

"Yeah you did. You came in here and—"

"I didn't grab your hand and force you to take down that shelf."

_I didn't force you to kill…_

The younger man shook his head to try and clear his thoughts. He was having that problem as of late. Aya cast him another odd look and, seemingly trying to draw him out of whatever daze he was in, continued, "3600 yen."

That comment breathed life in Ken…though perhaps not the kind that Aya would've liked. "_What!_ 3600 yen! For that piece of shit! It must've cost only about 700, Aya…why do I have to pay _TRIPLE?_"

"It's not triple."

Ken wanted to pull his hair out, "Why do you always focus on the _wrong_ part of what I say?"

"I'm not. It's not triple. And it'll backorder our clients."

Ken's next retort died down in his throat, "Oh." Once more, Aya eyed him warily.

"Did Youji tell you?"

Dark chocolate swept upwards. Ken licked his lips subconsciously, "About the next mission? Yeah. Bastard."

Aya's eyebrow rose curiously, but he brushed the comment away, "Tonight. Meet me on the roof."

"Hmm? What for?"

"Last katana practice."

"But…" Ken faltered at Aya's straightforward gaze, "but the mission's not for another three days—"

"You either come or you don't. It's not all that complicated, Ken."

* * *

"Bastard."

Ken grumbled under his breath. Currently, it was eight thirty and since Aya hadn't specified _exactly_ what 'tonight' meant, he'd figured it was time to get ready. The brunette's cheeks burned a little at the thought of getting 'ready' for Aya…as if it were some sort of date. "He'd sooner kill me."

Lacing up his boots absentmindedly, he wondered why Aya would've deemed tonight their 'last practice.' It wasn't as though they had anything else to do—as far as Weiss was concerned, anyway. It could've had something to do with his sister, though. Ken paused. That was a likable alibi. If ever there was anything that could tear Aya away from Weiss and the shop, it was his sister. And…considering the forthcoming missions would have the redhead targeted, it only made sense for him to try and see his sister as much as he could. Leave her 'set', so to speak.

Ken found that the fact unnerved him. Aya was the type that—though he didn't fear death—wasn't dense to its likelihood, either. Especially in their line of work. But…Aya had always had a sort of 'I'll kill anything in my way' persona, and the realization that he was considering his possible death made Ken uneasy. He wondered if he had had some sort of premonition. _It would certainly explain his behavior as of late._

Straightening slightly, Ken heaved a sigh and fell backwards on his bed, head cradled in his arms. It certainly was a lot to think about…and he really didn't have the time for it. A quick glance at his fluorescent neon clock showed that it was fifteen minutes short of nine.

Ken wondered if Aya would ever speak to him if he didn't show up.

Then again, murder was more of a likely option.

So, despite his sluggish laziness, Ken made of point of climbing the myriad of steps to the roof of the Koneko.

* * *

"I've got the dye," as he spoke, Youji rattled a small, brown bag. "Got it at the depot. Even went undercover—"

Omi smiled, taking in the sight of the blonde in faded, loose blue jeans, and an even baggier gray shirt. The ensemble, in and of itself, was neither out of style, nor unflattering—especially when coupled with Youji's naturally sensual aura and lean, attractive frame. But…for Youji, the outfit was _incredibly_ average, and thus—not him. It was _more Kenken_, he'd said.

Whether the comment would've insulted the brunette or not was yet to be seen. Ken rather prided himself on his attire, after all. Regardless, Omi was grateful for Youji's attempts at lessening the severity of the situation. It was difficult knowing two of their closest allies—both in life and profession—were shortly going to be stepping into a dangerous situation.

Neither of the two was stupid. They understood the mission parameters just as well as they understood the percentage of success…and, while it wasn't high, they knew better than to approach the situation with a negative mindset. To quote what Youji had said offhandedly so many times, 'If you go in thinkin' you're gonna die, you might as well write your will and build your coffin.'

But still…their nerves were on edge. Secrecy _was_ a vital part of this particular mission, and they couldn't risk even the smallest triviality of fact to be unguarded. If the mission was to work out as they had planned, then Ken would have to remain absolutely locked up over the next few days—especially since Persia had decided, probably on Kritiker's orders, to give Ken real experience with the katana—lest he risk exposing his identity. That meant he had two days _after_ the mission prior to Yamoi in which to train…and stay completely hidden.

Damn but did Persia's new orders put a stopper to their plans. It was going to be damn near difficult to run the flowershop without raising _some_ sort of suspicion over Ken's supposed absence. And since they had no exact idea of who their enemy might be, several forced and adultered explanations were going to have to be at hand. Youji hoped the brunette's fanclub would be satisfied by a simple, "he's sick."

He doubted they would be.

Try as he might, however, he still couldn't quite comprehend _why_ Kritiker would put them all in such precarious positions. They knew—better than anyone, he'd wager—the importance of being clandestine in their line of work…it made little sense that they so unwontedly suggest Ken reveal himself as a decoy so early before the actual date of the mission. It was risky, suspicious, and damn near suicidal.

He'd discuss the matter with the redhead if he felt it'd do any good, but he doubted Aya would give him much of an ear. The man could be stubborn as a goat when he willed it so, and—though he had yet to fail his duty to protect Weiss' health and self-interest as team leader—he found it unlikely that he would concede to their 'skipping' the mission. As it was, he doubted Kritiker would even allow them to. They _were_ the most talented assassin group available, after all, and though they were paid for their missions, Kritiker certainly had enough influence to have them outed should they prove uncooperative or dangerous…which was another cause for worry.

Youji wondered if Kritiker was beginning to doubt the power of the assassin group they'd so meticulously put together. He couldn't help but ponder at the possibility that the whole mission be only a trap on their part to rid themselves of the 'danger' they posed. And that belief, in and of itself, was deadly. Weiss was nothing if it doubted its boss. It might as well be dead—by will—at the notion.

And…well, Kritiker _had_ been known to push them into certain missions, mostly through suggestive threats directed at Ran's sister…most of which hadn't been well received by the redhead. But he had complied, though, realistically, he hadn't needed to. Although Kritiker had the _means_ by which to dispose of them, they would have trouble if they tried. For one, Omi was talented enough to hack into their toughest systems ten times over, and Aya was a scrupulous enough leader to know how much of what they said was fact and how much was fiction. Combined—what with his intuition and Ken's hot temper—they were a force to be reckoned with, and Kritiker sure as hell knew that. That was part of the reason they were so successful. Weiss was like the proverbial symbiotic parasite to its host: the only reason the host let the parasite live, aside from the fact that it was useful to it, was because it didn't know how to rid itself of it. Still…he couldn't shake the feeling that something was being kept from them, and he knew he needed to share that knowledge with someone else—if not the entire Weiss. The clearest choice was Omi.

And, seeing as how they were currently sitting together, the overall atmosphere comfortable despite the impending stress of the mission gnawing at the back of their minds, it was an excellent opportunity to discuss his most recent in-findings.

Omi was an excellent listener, mostly by part of his empathetic nature, and never failed to make one feel better. As it was, he seemed to be able to tell something was bothering him, and large sapphire eyes narrowed almost immeasurably at him. He said nothing, of course, as he often preferred to be approached than to pry. Youji caught his gaze and nodded. "It's this mission," he admitted truthfully, "I don't like it."

A thoughtful nod reciprocated his suspicions. "It's too…too _vague._ Kritiker never does things without reason, and the pretense that Yamoi is behind it all—regardless of whether it's an error in their intelligence or not—it a bit thin, even for them."

Letting the boy's words sink in, Youji decided that he agreed. He let his gaze skim the kitchen absently, thinking…wondering what could _really_ be going on, when he realized the youth was speaking again. "I'd hack into their servers and download they information if I didn't think they'd already altered it into making some semblance of sense. They're not dumb…and they know that we're not dumb, either. They know we'd try and get the information. I wouldn't be surprised if they have it under lock and key, and have only a single copy of it, if at that."

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was all some sort of verbal agreement between two people, chibi."

Omi let the nickname slide on basis of the gravity of their conversation. He gave a stern nod. "I just can't help but think this has more to do with Aya than even he realizes. And it can't have been something that's been going on _all_ along, or they would've moved in for the kill sooner, don't you think?"

Youji hesitated in his response, jade eyes seeming truly thoughtful for a few seconds. And then, "I really don't know, Omi…I really don't know…It might've been a ploy on their part to gain our trust and catch us when our guard is down…or, it might be a result of something they've only just figured out. I think they would've done something sooner, too…put us in danger's claws without adequate information, so to speak, so that they could erase us without remorse. And then there's Aya…we don't know much about him either way. Except for his sister, and even _that_ was something that wasn't volunteered by him."

"Yeah. Maybe…maybe he agrees with the mission because there's something he knows?"

"Only way to find out is to ask him…and I doubt he'll give us a straight answer. Besides, it doesn't strike me as if he would keep something from us that would put us in danger—at least not consciously. He's in the same boat as us…in more trouble maybe, as the mission focuses almost entirely on him."

"No…" Omi corrected, frowning as his eyebrows drew in together, "It's Ken…he's the one in danger—he's the 'Aya' from the missions…maybe…do you think maybe they're really after _him,_ and are trying to conceal the fact by making it seem as though they're after Aya? Why the entire plot, after all? Why the need for a decoy? We could've just all not gone—or have Aya not show up. It doesn't makes sense…it's not logical at all."

"Yeah, I get what you mean—"

"And that's not all…I mean, why only _Aya?_ If they figured out his identity, then they rightly well should've figured ours too, don't you think?"

Youji raked long, dexterous fingers through his hair and sighed, seeming all the more confused, "Nothing, _nothing_ makes sense here. It's not as though they'd know you or me wouldn't take the decoy mission—"

The smaller blonde nodded in understanding, then paused and seemed doubtful, "They certainly knew I couldn't do it—not if we wanted it to be convincing…and we wanted it as such, because we'd stupidly be putting ourselves in danger otherwise…and they _could've_ at least assumed you wouldn't've done it. You're a hard character to second guess. Once someone knows your preferences, everything else is pretty cleancut. Manx certainly knows you well enough to vouch for that."

"Man, chibi…we've only got five more days to figure this out…"

"Well," Omi stood and moved towards Youji, somewhat of a reassuring—if strained—smile on his lips. He suddenly looked a lot younger to the other man, "we can always skip out on the mission and move to Mexico….or Canada."

Youji looked oddly at the youth. "Wouldn't Korea be closer?"

* * *

_Press...the button..._


	3. Blaze III

_**

* * *

Dyed Crimson  
**By the Weaver Atropos_

* * *

**_Dyed Crimson, Blaze III_**

Ken blinked chocolate eyes up at Aya.

He had just crawled in through the roof-window square, pushing the levered window open with his right hand and using the other to prop himself up, when two strong arms had wrapped about his torso and pulled him up in one smooth flourish.

"Uh…hi—" Ken wondered why he hadn't seen Aya as he'd tried to life himself out of the hole. He'd looked around—in every direction he was pretty sure. Then again…the redhead had a way of camouflaging with his surroundings. Especially when it was night. "Ne…Aya? You can let go now."

The remark was coupled with a bit of a grin, Ken having only recently discovered his leader had a bit of a penchant of drifting off, and the young man chuckled when the other pushed him off somewhat roughly. It was then he realized Aya was topless, thin sheet of sweat glistening on his exposed torso, hardened pectorals and smooth abdominals seeming almost ethereal in the moonlight. He quirked up his eyebrow in the best imitation of Youji he could muster and craned his head to the side in thought. "Practicing?"

A slight grunt signaled his response, and Ken found himself trailing behind the taller man more out of habit than any real curiosity. He stopped a few feet away from the redhead, watching him stretch languidly, arms raised above his head, stomach pulled taut, shivering as the breeze of the night hit his overheated body. The chocolate-haired youth felt his body stiffen just the slightest bit.

He'd be damned if he hadn't had imagined Aya like that before.

A bit of a blush tickled his cheeks.

He'd be damned if he hadn't imagined Aya like that…and with infinitely less clothing…before.

"Ken?"

Snapping out of his momentary reverie with a guilty smile that Aya recognized as such, the young man approached his soon to be clone and awaited instructions. "Practice the katas I showed you the other day."

Ken nodded, absently peeling off his Brazilian jersey in a habit he'd adopted quite unconsciously from Aya, and accepted the katana the other gave him with both hands. He closed his eyes then, envisioning the many times he'd seen the redhead practicing…remembering how gently he seemed to slice through the wind, how graceful his movements always were…how sensual he nearly always managed to look.

The wind whispered against his warming flesh as he tore through the space about him, emulating that same gracefulness, caressing the spirits of nature with his own extended spirit—the katana—and feeling strangely pleasured as a result of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of Aya's gaze, hot and probing at his back, almost curious at his ability to lose himself so completely in the exercise.

He had seen Aya practicing many times—both as a result of their newest mission, and secretly many times prior to that—and the young man always looked focused, concentrated…but there were rare times when he lost himself to the wind…the night…the feelings of one's body.

As concentrated as he was, Ken could almost feel his muscles rippling and flexing with each movement, his upper body stronger than it had been a week ago, and it felt odd to be so balanced. Soccer had given him stamina, powerful lungs, and enduring legs…but this…this had given him the type of mental discipline he had always yearned for, but been frightened to seek.

He loved how the wind talked to him…how it stroked his abdomen and murmured in his ear…how it made him so relaxed he could almost feel himself drift…His body worked by Pavlonian theory alone…muscle memory at it's finest.

All thought fled from his persona the minute his footfalls became the beat that thrummed alongside his quickening heart. His breathing became erratic at the same time that it stilled…it was a paradox he had grown to love.

He knew he was close to finishing his katas when the contact of the breeze against his skin became more bruising than warm, and his arms tightened in exhaustion as lactic acid drifted inevitably through his muscles. Frowning that the experience be over so soon, and aching for it once more, Ken lowered the katana and opened his eyes uncertainly.

He found a pair of amethyst staring back.

There was a strange glint in Aya's eyes, as though he expected Ken to say something...to entrust something to him. Aya had given himself totally for the mission, after all, confided his secrets in Ken, but had received very little in response.

Ken smiled his quirky little smile at the redhead, feeling sheepish that he'd grown so attached to the man's katana, and extended his hand almost sadly to return the steel weapon back to its master. "You seemed to enjoy that."

The younger man nodded, arching his back in the same manner Aya had earlier, easing the tightened muscled alongside his spine. This time around it was Aya who took in his sweaty upper-body, the almost painfully tight abdominals, and the mussed chocolaty hair.

He was a sight to behold. And he had been an even greater one when he'd been practicing _his_ katas.

He had looked so…sated as he'd danced about, katana poised to strike at nonexistent enemies, lids fallen shut as he strayed into his dreams…

He had looked more skillful wielding that katana than people who had studied their entire lives for it. Aya was mildly aware that this supple, fluid Ken was a sharp juxtaposition to the one who attacked with the bugnuks, tearing open tender flesh in the most crude of manners, leaving scars so unfit and ugly.

The katana was different; it killed with grace, beauty…It left but one single, clean delineation. And that was it.

"Youji bought the dye."

It was an honest attempt at conversation; at an exchange that wasn't solely centered around how he could be more like Aya. He was tired of those dry, long nights together, where all they did was plot his behavior, attitude, and speech. He was tired of it, and gods knew, Aya was as well. And perhaps that was why he conceded with an absent smile.

"I know. I saw him come in."

Ken smiled a little at Aya's soft, amused tone, glad the other was comfortable enough to talk. "He went undercover, too, apparently."

Cocoa brows shot curiously upwards, "Undercover?"

"Yes, as you."  
"Me?"

Aya nodded, remembering the faded jeans Youji had been sporting, combined with an old, plain white t-shirt, and running sneakers he had no doubt pilfered from the soccer player's own closet.

And then the redhead sombered slightly, taking in the younger man before him, watching the goose-bumping flesh with morbid interest. "Are you going to dye it tonight?"

"Huh…what? Tonight…?" Ken shrugged, "I suppose I'll dye it whenever you guys see fit…or whenever Manx decides I should."

"It'll grow out."

"Yeah…yeah it will…" Ken fingered his long, shaggy bangs with a bit of a frown, then looked upwards at Aya's own, kempt bangs. The taller man had a way of keeping his bangs level, so that—while they didn't look trimmed—they didn't look overgrown and scruffy either. "I guess I have to cut it, too, ne?"

Aya nodded, dropping down beside the boy, feeling his hesitance even before it was voiced. Ken had let his hair grow out slightly, so that he could have Aya's eartails, but his locks were wild and unruly where his were flat and limp. It was going to be a task to tweak Ken's slightly curling tresses into behaving. "You dye it tomorrow, then?"

An absent, thoughtful nod.

"Then…one more night as Hidaka Ken?"

"Hmm?" Ken turned curiously toward his partner, not entirely sure what that supposition entailed, and was startled to see his leader's eyes shining mischievously, as though daring him to deny the invitation. "Tonight?"

A nod. "Tomorrow you're Aya as far as the world knows. And, at least for a week after that, you won't be Ken."

"Oh…" and then, "Will you miss Ken?"

Aya looked curiously at the young man sitting beside him, wondering when he started referring to himself in third person, and shrugged. "He'll be right here, won't he? I won't have to miss him."

"Yeah, I guess…"  
"So…how about it?"

Ken looked uncertain. He hooked his thumbs about themselves, and let them hang between his knees, frowning in thought. "Wouldn't it…wouldn't it be _dangerous_ for the mission?"

"No. Better yet if we get their attention. They'll be wanting me even more, then."

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

"Ne, Youji-kun?" 

"Hmm?" Youji shifted from his position on the couch, arching his back slightly to look at the young boy. He was carrying a large bowl of popcorn, clad in too-long pajama pants and a smooth, somewhat transparent, old shirt. He looked younger than he usually did, the illusion perhaps caused by his oversized clothing, vacant, curious expression doing nothing to help matters.

"Aya and Ken-kun are gone."

Youji raised an eyebrow. He wasn't all that surprised. "Youji-kun?"

"What, Chibi?"

"What do you know that I don't? I know that look."

A smooth chuckle dripped from the blonde's lips, his naked torso looking pale and wan, illuminated only by the light from the television. "I've just got a bit of a hunch, is all."

Omi pouted, looking almost skeptic, and continued towards the older man, dropping down on the floor so that he could lean his back against the couch Youji was stretched languidly across.

He wondered if Youji were as much a bed hog as he was a couch one.

"Oi! Chibi!" the words were coupled by Youji unceremoniously dropping his hand into his lap, quite unawares that he had relocated the bowl of popcorn from his lap, onto the floor. It took Youji a full minute to realize what he'd done, but once he had, his hand shot from Omi as though the boy were the plague. Rising in such earnest that he lost his balance, Youji tumbled backwards from the couch, effectively lodging himself in between the wall, and the sofa's armrest. Positioned as he was, blood rushing to his head, derriere raised into the air for all to see, he felt slightly stifled. Omi, for once, was glad, and was slow to help the man out of his self-made hole.

The boy's cheeks were burning a dark scarlet, and he was more annoyed with his body's reaction to the man's touch, than at it having happened at all. His skin still ached at the contact, and he felt the slightest shiver or recognition as he realized precisely _why_ it did.

At least he didn't have to worry about Youji-kun interpreting his reaction. Youji most obviously and decidedly enjoyed the company of men. He might not have been exclusive to it, occasionally bringing home women, but—though he had never brought home any of his 'male' dates—Omi could tell. He'd smelled the scent of another man on Youji more times than he could count. He'd seen bruises females could scarcely dream of leaving behind, and he'd seen the tall blonde with a man at a club once. Accidentally.

And, luckily enough, Youji hadn't seen _him_ there, or he would've been dead meat. The man had a sense of righteous protection over him, as though he were a little boy he'd rather have bypass corruption.

Which was ironic, given Weiss.

Omi remembered his initial reaction to finding Youji so closely pressed to another man. For having played the part of the ladies' man to them for so long, it had seemed as though he had been the one being courted. Another man—tall and of dark, near blue hair—had pulled Youji close, whispering something in his ear that had made the self-proclaimed sex-god blush.

Omi had been surprised. He'd never seen Youji blush. Much less with such a scandalized look in his eye.

It hadn't been that hard to figure things out afterward. Hints could always be found if one looked hard enough. After that incident, Omi had become aware of the customary glance Youji paid his female customers, the habitual friendly touch—the almost Casanova whisper he'd let loose as he leaned across them to pick up an idle arrangement.

But he had become even more aware of how his gaze lingered when those same customers were male. His eyes would follow them surreptitiously around the store, seeming almost rueful despite it all, and he'd offer them a lazy, if not suggestive, little smile if they looked back.

That wasn't usually something he'd do with women.

"Ne, chibi?"

Omi was startled out of his thoughts when Youji managed to wriggle around somewhat, only succeeding in getting more firmly lodged in place. A slight thud soon followed.

Smiling to himself before getting to work on getting the other man out, Omi pulled up his sleeves and sighed.

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

"Ice-cream?" 

Crimson locks swayed in the night's breeze, searching out the speaker's voice absently. Aya's eyes found Ken, looking almost awkward as he stared at him, arm half-raised to point at a nearby ice-cream vendor. The teen, lost amidst a random magazine bearing a scantily-dressed female on the cover, looked up at him, waving him over energetically. "What'll you guys have?"

Ken was about to respond with a polite shake of the head, not to sure his redhead companion was all that interested in ice-cream—he'd never really seen him have any before—when he felt Aya walk past him, shoulder rubbing against his, and politely give his order to the teen. Amethyst eyes twinkled mysteriously at him. "You're not having any?"

"Uh…yeah…um, strawberry."

Turning, Aya recited Ken's order to the teen, sifting through the change in his pockets for the appropriate bills.

"I didn't know you liked chocolate ice-cream." Ken followed his teammate down the winding path of the park, eyes scanning the area out of habit, pinning possible suspects and escape routes.

"We didn't come for you to do that, you know."

Ken was startled out of his thoughts by a voice that was a few notches softer than it normally was. Feeling his face burn up, and thanking the night for the darkness, he shrugged. "I don't do it on purpose. Just used to it."

"You never did it before."  
"Oh…? I guess it's just a habit I've picked up, then."

His remark was coupled with a bit of a smile towards the taller man. He had been adopting quite a few habits that were in line with those of Aya's. He'd been imitating the man to a fault by then.

Aya simply nodded at the comment, agreeing with him in his own tacit manner, and concentrated on his ice-cream. Aya was as graceful in eating as he was in all else he did. He took small measured bites, always chewing thoroughly, never speaking with his mouth full, always careful to keep himself from spilling things—whether on his persona or in the remote area.

He was no different in eating an ice-cream.

His tongue, fleshy and pink, lapped at the frozen cream, taking care to keep it from sliding down the cone's side in melted drops, or on his fingertips in that same manner. Ken, meanwhile, was the picture of childish ecstasy when it came to ice-cream. He remembered his younger days, when Kase and he would go out for ice-cream after soccer practice, Kase always ordering pecan vanilla while he swore religiously by plain strawberry.

Ken licked clumsily at his own cone, cursing under his breath when thawing droplets of pink slid downwards onto his hands, caking them and making them sticky. On impulse, he licked at his forefinger, tongue trailing from the very base of his digit, all the way upwards to the wrinkled bends at his second phalange. The elusive liquid then slid inwards into his palm, and he followed it relentlessly, licking it down his thumb. He was so focused on his current mission, that he was unaware of Aya's curious stare, trained almost specifically on his mouth. "I never noticed you were such a messy eater."

_Hmm?_

Startled, the brunette looked upwards, eyes locked on amused amethyst ones, and pulled his hand from his mouth, licking his lips to rid them of the sweet taste of strawberry a bit self-consciously. "Oh…uh…yeah. I've always been."

Aya simply nodded, his question having been rhetorical, and motioned towards a more brightly lit sector of the park.

"A carnival?" Ken looked curiously at his companion. "I didn't know they still had these."

Once more, a red head bobbed up and down in answer. "They've been having them every year…for quite a while now."

"Are we…?"

That strange look again.

"Only if you want to."

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

"Ne, chibi…that was mean of you." 

Omi rolled his eyes, tossing the older man a bag of chips, and plopped down beside him on the newly repositioned couch. "Now. There can't be any accidents with individual bags, can there?"

He wasn't looking straight at Youji, or he would've caught the thoughtful look he was giving him. "No…I guess there can't."

There was a bit of a silence as the two concentrated on the movie, Omi curled up around a pillow, spare blanket spread out on top of him. Youji, meanwhile, had retreated to the opposite side of the couch, legs spread out majestically in front of him, lean torso slouched on the armrest, eyes trained on the younger boy.

He swallowed thickly.

"Omi, I saw you at the club the other day."

* * *

( - - -)

* * *

"I've only ever been to a carnival once," the soccer player began, eyes scanning the crowds for familiar faces, maybe a few of his charges. "And that was a while ago. I got jumped by some stupid kid who took my money." 

He looks towards Aya, waiting—or perhaps, wanting—a response of some sort, and receiving that well-practiced nod of his. He was listening. Ken frowned a little as he remembered how that story had ended up. "Then…Then Kase chased him down and beat him to a pulp—he always defended me."

Ken smiled to himself, looking at his shoes absently, not sure he should have divulged so much about his past. But, in a certain way, it felt reciprocal to what Aya was doing for him. He didn't _have_ to do it, Aya could have just declined participation in the mission.

But he hadn't.  
And why hadn't he?

Ken would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about asking him that before. It was something that plagued him continuously; they'd conferred the matter at hand as part of the mission briefing, but the motives had never been discussed. And…more than anything else, Ken wanted to know _why._

"You stepped on a piece of gum."  
"Hmm?"

Eloquent as always. Following the direction of Aya's pale, pointing finger, he lifted his right foot, encased in new soccer sneakers, and found a good thick wad of pink bubblegum stuck to one of the crevices between the cleats. He grimaced. If there was one thing Hidaka Ken did _not_ do, it was gum.

Or better yet, gum removal.

"Gross. Someone's spit is ravaging my sneakers."

A vivid red eyebrow arched at the choice of words. "Do you know what that word implies?"

"Hmm?" Tipping a little, as he was balancing himself on one foot, assessing the damage to his precious cleats, his hand reached out in a reflexive manner, gripping Aya's sleeve for support. The redhead didn't seem to mind. "Yeah…I was helping Omi with his vocabulary the other day. It means to destroy or invade. Something like that."

"Ah…"  
"What…?"  
"Nothing."

"Hey no, wait!" Ken hopped along behind Aya, fingers tightening around the piece of cloth he had gotten hold of to keep his balance, and smacked into him when he stopped. "What does it mean?"

"You were right."  
"No—you gave me the _look_."

Aya turned towards him, lavender eyes focusing almost curiously on his. "What look?"

"_That _look." Ken pointed with his free hand to the taller man's face. "_That_ look that says I said something that's ridiculous, ludicrous, or ridiculously and ludicrously stupid."

"That's redundant, you know."  
"Yeah…I know—and stop changing the subject."  
"I'm not."  
"Yeah, you are."

The pale man took a few more steps forward, hearing six crazed and unsteady hops behind him, and couldn't help the small smile that came to his lips. Ken couldn't see his face anyway. "Have you gotten the contacts, yet?"

"Contacts?"

Blessed be the brunette's short attention span. "For what?"

"You're eyes."

"Oh…" and then, "Oh! No…Manx was supposed to bring them around. I don't think it matters much for the next mission, since they don't know us much anyway."

Aya shook his head. "It matters. C'mon. There's store around here that sells them."

* * *

( - - -)

* * *

"I refuse." 

A glare.

"That doesn't work. I _know_ the power behind it."

The last bit of the statement was near the point of laughter.

A darker glare.

"Aya! I don't want to go in there and have to _walk_ on this vile and grotesque piece of gum. And before you ask, I've been quizzing Omi on his vocabulary exams."

The brunette was a bit surprised when he was forcefully pushed into a small, out of the way store, Aya's cool, soft hands at the small of his back, his breath landing at the nape of his neck at the proximity. Ken rushed into the store. What motivation.

"Morning."  
"Good Evening."

Ken blushed at his greeting, realizing how dark it was outside, but shrugged anyway. He took in the stooped, greasy looking man standing behind the counter, and couldn't help but shift a bit closer to the redhead. The man looked oily, and his fingertips were caked with black, palms twinged a faded yellow. He stared at Ken with a predatory look, raking his small, squinty rat eyes up and down his body, lingering on a particular attribute in such a manner that he shifted a bit behind Aya.

He'd never felt so threatened by another man as he was at the present moment…and it wasn't even a feeling of fear. It was more one of disgust. He wished Aya wouldn't have brought them in there.

"What'll you two gentlemen like? We have…" he paused and cast Ken another hungry look, "…the utensils, near the back room."

Ken looked at Aya inquisitively, not sure what 'the utensils' were, but eager to leave from the man's remote line of vision, and had begun wandering in that direction, when the young man caught his arm. Violet eyes bore dangerously into his. Their message was easy enough to understand. _No._

He spoke to the man without tearing his eyes from Ken.

"I need contacts."  
"Ah. No utensils?" The man seemed disappointed.

"No." The reply was sharp. Almost daring for another offer. Just for good measure, Aya turned towards the man, towering form coupled with the most intimidating look he could muster.

"Well then. Clear?"

Ken interrupted the conversation with a bit of a tug at his arm, wanting to break free of the redhead's grasp. He was starting to feel claustrophobic in the shop, becoming suddenly aware of the…seediness of the place.

He looked towards Aya imploringly, pulling him just the slightest bit away. "Ne…Aya, can we go someplace else," the brunette caught side of the squinty-eyed man staring at him again, "please, Aya?" his eyes expressed his uneasiness in regards to the situation.

"Don't worry about it," his voice was below a whisper, "you can take care of him easier than I can if he tries anything. Which he won't."

Well, _that_ was certainly reassuring.

Nodding despite himself, he followed Aya back to the counter, looking everywhere _but_ at the sale owner. Apparently, the greasy bastard took that the wrong way entirely. "You've certainly got him on a leash," he was talking to Aya, "Quite a little piece, ne?"

Ken exploded then, and was about to tell the damned man that _no_ one had him on _any_ sort of leash, when the redhead tossed him another look, coupled with a bit of a push, and he fell silent.

Aya turned back to the man, amethyst eyes narrowed. He did not seem amused. No reply was offered. "Color. Purple."

"Purple? You mean _purple_ or a paler hue."

Aya pointed to his eyes impatiently, the sudden smell of _something_ on the old man reaching his nostrils, "_This_ color."

The seedy man leaned over then, no doubt under the pretense of examining the pale youth's eyes more closely, and breathed liquor and smoke on his face. "Yes…well, these—these are a difficult tone to copy…"

"Can your or can't you? There are other shops here." The tone was deadly.

The man backed away, baring yellow teeth dotted with black, fuzzy growth bordering the sides. "I can," he looked towards Ken once more, "for a price."

"He's off the market."

"Is he? He looks perfectly unbranded to me…unless, it's somewhere less visible?"

"He's mine," Aya practically snarled, shoving Ken clear behind him, so that his bigger form hid his. "One more insinuation on him and you'll find yourself in a glorious bloodpath with the next one you pick up."

The man didn't seem fazed. If anything, his smile widened, "He must do his work well, if you're that keen on him."

Ken, meanwhile, shielded behind Aya, was wondering how much longer until the redhead lost his patience. His breathing was growing unsteady, and, being behind him, the brunette could see the rapid rise and fall of his back, caused by his breathing. "Can you make the lenses or not?"

"I already gave my price. Take it or leave it."

"Aya?" It was Ken…and he sounded just the slightest bit uncertain. Almost as if he feared Aya would toss him to the wolves.

"Fine."

A look of ecstasy filtered into the man's eyes at what he thought to be Aya's concession. "I'll find another place."

With those words, Aya took hold of Ken's wrist, pushing him somewhat roughly in front of him, and was nearly out the door when the man's voice called back to him. "Wait…Maybe, maybe I can arrange for something else."

Pausing a minute, and weighing the consequences, Aya gave the brunette another gentle shove and sent him out to wait outside the store. He walked back inside, hands in pockets, expression dark. "Well?"

"You don't seem willing to share that boy."

A crimson brow rose condescendingly. "Is that what you called me back for? I thought I made that much clear."

"What about you, then?"  
"What about me?"  
"Well…you won't share the fiery boy…his energy could be useful for a lot of things. But you…you're just plain pretty. I'm sure we could find something for you to do…"

"Is that your price?"

An uncertain nod.

"What exactly do I have to do?"  
"Nothing. Just…look pretty."

Aya flashed gloriously white incisors. "Can you make the lenses?"

"Yeah. I can. Two hours. You're eye-color's unique, but not entirely impossible to mimic. Who's it for?"  
"It's not your business to know."  
"It is. If it's for blue eyes, the tint's I use'll be different. If it's for brown eyes, same concept."

"It's for the boy," Aya admitted reluctantly, head jerked towards the door, where he could see the brunette's frame resting against the metal grating of the store's window.

"Ah…dark brown eyes, then."

A nod.

"How many pairs. The boy looks clumsy; he might break them. Do you want them on 24/7 or just for a night?"

"Give me enough for a year."

"All right. You know the price."

A sharp nod. "I'll be back in three hours. You have an extra one to make sure they're damned perfect."

* * *

XD...I've got Chappie 4 written up...it's being edited as we speak...  
Aya's a little bit OOC, I think...but, it works.

* * *


	4. Copper IV

* * *

_**Dyed Crimson  
**The Weaver Atropos  
_

* * *

_**Dyed Crimson, Copper IV**_

Hearing a gaudy bell jingle, Ken was startled out of his internal musings—more like damnings—and cast a guarded look at the redhead. "You were talking a long time." 

"I was."

"About?"

"The contacts."

Exasperated, the youth threw his hands in the air, causing passerby to look oddly at him, "There was no need to, I hope you know. Manx said she'd get them for us, remember."

"And Manx also forgot to give us the mission-parameters that last time."

"Aya…That was…it wasn't on purpose."

"How would you know? You were knocked out for the greater part of a month."

Ken fell quiet, fingering the 2nd button of his jean jacket uncomfortably. "I just…I don't want to think that they did that on purpose."

"And if they did?"

The young man looked away, feeling sick to his stomach and wishing he hadn't agreed to going out that night after all. "They _wouldn't_! That's the whole point, they would never do that!"

"Why _not_?"

"Because they're Kritiker!"

"Go back to the shop."

"What! You don't _tell_ me what to do, Aya!" the brunette was outraged by then, having reached the exit of the alleyway, and feeling all the more safer to yell his heart out if he so willed it.

"Go back and tell Youji to meet me back here, and to bring me my katana."

"What? Why?"

Impatient and irritated, Aya pushed past Ken, intent on getting his sword himself if he wasn't in the mood to relay his message, and was a good three or four feet away from Ken, when the boy launched himself towards him, mass of coiled muscle colliding with him fiercely.

"What the _hell _is yourproblem!" Aya threw the young man off him roughly, rising up and ready to launch an attack on the brunette, when he caught him—quite unawares—and punched him square in the jaw. He felt himself stagger back quite a bit.

Having never really been in a physical fight with Ken, he hadn't known the young man to be so strong.

"I don't _have_ a problem, you bastard! You're the one who's going around to freakin' sex stores asking for _contact_ lenses."

Aya reached out towards Ken, ready to smack some sense into his overheated brain, when the brunette ducked and pulled on his arm, so that the two rolled to the floor, fighting for dominance. Ken ended up on top, hands gripping roughly at Aya's wrists, fingertips digging into the pale, ivory flesh, no doubt bruising it. "I know you're moves, you damned bastard."

The redhead growled from beneath Ken, somewhat stifled between the man's weight, and bucked his hips upwards, trying to get Ken off him. He succeeded partially, being stronger than Ken in his upper body, and was able to grip at the assassin's own wrists, bending them so that the bone was near popping.

Ken winced, falling backwards despite himself, pressed into a position similar to the one he'd managed to overpower Aya into a few minutes ago. "I'm me, Ken. No one knows me better than me. Don't _assume_ things."

"I'm not! You just don't tell me things I'm supposed to know! Don't you trust me? Whenever you say something, and I ask, you always say it's _nothing_. It has to be _something_ if you mentioned it!"

The redhead considered the man's words, remembering how many times that night he had dismissed Ken's questions, recalling all the times _prior_ that he had ignored the brunette.

The young man, even angrier at Aya's silence—which he perceived as arrogant tacitness—writhed under his captor, blood boiling in more ways than one, when a soft whisper escaped Aya's lips. "Sex."

"_WHAT!"_ Ken kicked at the redhead then, startled and constricted by the man's body, remembering the utensils the man at the store had described. "What are you—"

"It means passionate sex. Ravaging."

_I don't mean to dismiss you. _

Ken's eyes moved hesitantly upwards, so that he was staring tentatively at Aya. After a few seconds, his struggling ceased. He was looking at him like that again. "You're going back to the store?"

"Maybe."

"But…"

The redhead shrugged, rolling off the young man and rising to his feet in two quick movements.

"But—I mean."

"Don't worry about it. I can take care of myself."

"Do you know him?"

"Know him?" Aya's nose wrinkled in disgust. "No. But I know plenty like him."

Ken, standing on his own once he realized Aya had no intentions of extending a hand, trailed after the redhead absently, "How come?"

"You don't need to know."

"What if they ask me about it?"

"They won't."

"They might."

"They won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because no one knows about it but me. Period."

"Is he going to make them? The contacts?"

A nod.

"So…your katana, then?"

Another nod.

"I can't come along?"

"Keep an eye on Omi. Help him with the plans for the mission."

Ken nodded once, shoving his hands in his pocket and casting Aya a calculated look. "All right."

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

Youji studied Ken skeptically. "I'm serious." 

"I bet you are."

"Youji!"

"I'm serious."

The blonde hesitated, taking in the anxious look on the brunette's face, and sighed. "All right, all right, where is he?"

"He's at a store near where the carnival is."

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

Ken shivered. It had been two hours. Ken bit his lip anxiously and cast Omi a worried look. Youji had left a good hour and a half ago, wire in hand, wavering smile on his lips. He was troubled—concerned over Youji…and concerned about Aya…

The brunette rubbed as his eyes, suddenly cursing that they weren't innately violet, and pondered over what Aya had said. _"…but I know plenty like him."_

Like him. Why?

Why _would_ he know anyone like the shop's owner?

A bit of a shudder ran through him at the memory, and Ken wondered if it had been a good idea to let the blonde go alone. For all he knew—

"Youji-kun!"

Ken turned at the name, shakingly searching out his partner, looking for that blood-red hair, and sighed when he laid eyes on it. He was all right. There was a bruise forming along the lower contour of his right eye, and blood was seeping slowly through a cut in his lip…but he was fine.

It seemed as though suddenly the entire world had disappeared.

And it was only the two of them, standing there, in the middle of a messy, comfortable room.

He hiccupped, feeling his breath leave him, and brought an unsteady hand to his mouth. And his shoulders were shaking, and he didn't know why.

Aya approached him with those strides of his—with those light-footed steps, and regarded him strangely.

His eyes were awfully purple.

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

He was staring at his door. Waiting. 

He'd been shaking since their redheaded leader had returned, and the slightest movement he made resulted in his world turning in every-which way. A dull thud had started somewhere in the back of his mind, and he was feeling as though he'd walked into the twilight zone.

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

"I'm worried about Ken." 

The words were soft, just barely whispered. Two pairs of eyes—one jade, the other blue—regarded him curiously. "Worried?" A deeper tenor.

Red locks fell forward at the nod. "He's…been acting strangely."

"He's been acting like _you_."

"No," Aya shook his head, "not that…there's something about the look in his eyes."

Youji was about to fire an amused retort—some innuendo about what _type_ of look that was—when Omi's fingertips quieted him. "I noticed it, too, Aya-kun."

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

"Ken?" 

Brown eyes blinked upwards and Ken shifted a little at the edge of his bed. His eyes were red-rimmed, and it hurt to focus. "Yeah?"

There was hesitance on Aya's part, an almost childish reluctance. "Let's go back up to the roof."

Ken stood, wobbling a little on his feet, his movements mechanical, gaze focused entirely on his. His movements were jerky, almost as though he'd forgotten how to walk, but he somehow managed to climb the staircase to the attic. As before, Aya helped him through, pale smooth arms wrapping about his waist and pulling him upwards.

The wind whipped at his hair, and he could feel the cold bleeding into him.

"Do you know how to put them on?"

"Hmm?" Ken shoved his hands into his pockets, "Put what on?"

"The contacts."

"Oh…no."

The redhead paused, mouth open as though to say something, and sighed instead. He made his way towards the roof's edge, peering over the three-foot rail, and turned to lean against it.

And, as abruptly as the world had lost its focus to him before, so did its lucidity return.

He moved leisurely towards Aya, feeling the man's eyes on his form, and dropped boyishly beside him. He shivered once more, though not particularly because of the night air. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Is that what you needed Youji for?"

Amethyst eyes clouded. "What does it matter?"

Pale, cool fingertips tangled in mossy waves of chocolate. The brunette shrugged, not adverse to the touch, and closed his eyes. "It matters."

"Why?"

He shrugged once more, the action more lethargic, and leaned into the probing fingertips. "Because…"

The air whistled, and at his tremble, those same cold hands brought him close, until his cheek was pressed against a flat chest. He could hear the steady, rhythmic, almost calming beat of the redhead's heart, and bundled his fists about the smooth cloth of his black sleeveless. Aya shifted, but said nothing.

"I was thinking about this mission."

"What about it?" Ken pondered at the quality of his voice. About how hoarse it was. As though he had struggled to say what he had. Aya fell silent despite the prompt, and for a moment, all he heard were their joint—though not simultaneous—intakes of breaths.

"Maybe we shouldn't go through with it."

"They'll make us," Ken felt his leader stiffen beside him, "they'll make us do it."

"It doesn't mean we will."

Damn Aya and his persistence.

"It does. You know it as well as I do."

"But—"

"You know what I realized today?" Ken pulled away and locked eyes with Aya, "I'm not afraid of dying. I _want_ to die."

His assertion was received by an impassive, thought slightly incriminating, expression. "You should be."

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

"That's a little scary." 

Youji looked at the tall redhead, then at the fully-dressed-still-chocolate-haired-pseudo-violet-eyed youth. "I never would have pegged you two as looking alike…but—"

Omi gave an ebullient nod, standing on tiptoe and looking over the blonde's shoulder. "Kenken! You look so…enigmatic like that—"

"So…when do I have the honors of dying your hair?"

Ken shrugged, shoulders rising and falling gracefully. He cast an inexpressive glance around the room, and sighed a little at the effort. His face broke out into an uncertain grin. "Now's a good a time as ever, I guess."

_"I'd be afraid to die." _

_"Why?" _

_"Because of Aya-chan." _

_A sad smile graced the brunette's cheeks. "Well then…maybe that's exactly why I'm not. I don't have anyone to live for." _

"All right! Kenken…_or_, should I say…Kenaya?"

Rolling his eyes, Ken sank into the offered chair and pulled a spare towel over his shoulders. There went the last step.

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

Ken fingered his bangs absently, a bit disgusted at the shade of red his hair had gleaned. It seemed almost orangey. Schu-esque. He frowned. It was nothing like Aya's hair. His was deep…a bloody color—one that was almost grotesquely appealing _because_ of its similarity to the elixir of life. 

He supposed it'd have to do. No one would see it at night, anyway. He wouldn't be seeing the light of day anytime soon. Not until their final mission. And it wasn't even a definite as to whether he was even going to _live_ that long. He fiddled a bit more with the fringes of hair that fell into his eyes, regarding his expression dispassionately, comparing his tan, bronze skin with Aya's milky, pale one.

He wondered how soft his skin might be.

He'd touched the redhead's body before, granted, but he'd never reached for it with that intent in mind. He wished Aya would show more of his skin. He had an impeccable body—one more sinewy and tapered than muscled. He could still remember how entranced he'd been those first few days of practice…when all his eyes could follow was the thin bead of sweat that traveled down the redhead's nape, and ended at the curvature of his lower back.

When he turned into a voyeur, he couldn't rightly know. But…quite suddenly, all he wanted to do was touch him. Touch the tall, unattainable redhead. He looked at his reflection, fingertips just barely grazing the surface, when he wondered whether a sort of liaison with his leader would in a way be self-gratification.

He _was_ Aya as far as the world was concerned, after all.

And…with that same concept in mind…shouldn't—wouldn't it make sense if…

His fingertips twitched as his mind wandered toward more dangerous extremes, and he was vaguely aware of his tightened jeans.

There was a knock at his door.

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

He was shorter. And tanner. Those were nature's things which mere aesthetics couldn't rightly change. Aya paused on his way toward his room, aware that the brunette was being awfully quiet for having only just had his hair died, and raised his hand. He hesitated. What was he planning on saying anyway? 

He'd wager to say he'd garnered the brunette's impulsiveness and passed on his more patient attributes to him. Or maybe he'd never been patient.

And it was odd, because it was almost like looking into a mirror and forgetting that dopplegangers weren't real.

Chapped lips widened into a weary smile that soon turned teasing, and violet eyes crinkled at the edges. "I look like Mastermind."

The tips of his lips drew upwards at the comment as he inspected Youji's dye-job—which was all right; it was more the coloring itself that was off-base. "You look like me."

"No I don't."

"You do."

"No…you're…prettier…"

Aya didn't know whether to be offended or flattered at the comment. Granted, he'd received his share of 'WAI!' and 'KAKKOI!'s growing up…but he couldn't ever remember having been called pretty. He shifted. "…and paler."

"Pale."

Ken nodded to himself at the observation, his eyes taking on a different gleam. "Very pale."

Aya quirked a brow at the brunette's tone, not as idealistic as to miss the intended message, and crossed his arms about his chest. He dismissed the comment regardless. "There's something missing."

"Missing?" Ken cocked his head adoringly toward the right, and sidestepped slightly to peer into his mirror. "Platform shoes?"

The redhead scoffed, "And here I thought it was obvious."

Ken shrugged and tugged at the man's sleeve, pulling the two side by side before the mirror. "I'm _not_ bleaching my skin for the sake of looking like you, Aya."

There went that little smile again. He missed this Ken. The sarcastic one with caustic humor, who would grin and laugh and throw caution to the wind. He hated to think the mission was changing him permanently. "Think a little."

"Hmm…" the young man tapped his foot idly, right hand coming to pull a little at his ear lobe. He did that a lot, Aya had noticed. Whenever he was thinking, or considering something, he'd take to playing with his ear.

"Exactly."

"Hmm? What!"

Aya bent slightly and tugged at the brunette's ear. "My ears are pierced."

The redhead studied him steadily, amethyst eyes looking earnestly at his face. Ken felt himself fidget—as he often did when he was being shamelessly watched, and fingered his ear lobe once more. There be another habit he'd have to get rid of.

"We're gonna have to pierce your ear, too."

The look on Ken's face was near priceless. He looked as though he were torn between arguing and resigning himself to his fate. He blinked chocolate eyes up at the redhead. "There's something about driving a cold, steel, _pointed_, _bacteria-ridden_, _infected_ needle through my insides that I find just the slightest bit repulsing."

A fine brow rose in amusement. "Your insides?"

Ken waved the man away, "My ear—cartilage, intestines—what's the difference?"

Aya crossed his arms over his chest once more, "I guarantee you, it's not going to fall off."

"The earring or my ear?"

"Ken—"

The young man heaved a big sigh, leaning forwards and supporting himself on his palms so that he could look more closely into the mirror. "I can't say I see the point of it."

"I bet Omi and Youji would."

It was Ken's turn to raise an eyebrow. He hadn't and had never been particular to the idea of a piercing. Even Kase had failed to convince him, and the man had held a ridiculous amount of influence over him. It was something that had never quite…sat well with him. "I don't see _why_…"

"Ken. They'll know you're not me if you're ear is perfectly sealed."

"Is it _my_ fault you walk around as though you were an Egyptian geisha with that stick of an earring? That's an identifying trait if I've ever seen one. Nevermind the hair and the skin tone. You're an awful person to have on a secret team, I hope you know."

If there were one merit to Aya, it was his ability to keep quiet…and it was that same tendency that drove Ken to extremes. He rightly well couldn't understand how someone could remain so entirely…deaf…to what was going on around him.

Ken figured his ear once more and frowned. It _had_ to hurt. Cartilage or not…it was just…sadistic.

Suddenly, he brightened. "We can't."

"We can't what?"

"Pierce it!" the young man paused and smiled at his reflection, "It's like the dye…mission confidentiality—no one can no I got it done; at least not with this hair," he pointed at his mop of slightly curling orangey hair.

"I don't see the problem."

Ken rolled his eyes. "They can't see me. I can't leave the house. No one can know I've pierced my ears." There was a smugness about his persona, "So I can't pierce them."

Aya remained as unfazed as he'd ever been. "I can pierce them for you."

He'd be damned if the redhead didn't sound amused.

Ken glared. "What?"

Aya shrugged, "I pierced my own…though, not by means I think you'd appreciate."

"What'd you do?"

"I drove a blunt earring through my ear."

Ken frowned. Well, _no_. He wasn't exactly fond of the idea of Aya smashing an earring straight through his ear. "But I can do it with a needle, just as well."

Again, the brunette hesitated.

"It's either me and a needle, or the shop down the block and that gun."

"And I can't just resort to a clip on?"

Amusement shone in amethyst eyes before being replaced by sympathy. "It doesn't hurt."

"Because you're a sadistic bastard, is why."

* * *

( - - - )

* * *

Eh, a bit anti-climactic, but I've got my reasons. I'm sorry for the ridiculously long delay--but, I hope this snippet gave you _some_ type of satisfaction. The plot thickens, my dear friends, and it _thickens_ nicely. Don't worry, I understand myself. Hopefully, the symbolism and hints are there. Squint really hard. You just might catch it.

* * *


	5. Ruby V

* * *

**_Dyed Crimson_**

_The Weaver Atropos_

* * *

**_Dyed Crimson, Ruby V_**

****

The next day found Ken, seated before his redheaded leader, brown eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of what was to come. The brunette had decided that—if this was the fate to befall him—he would antagonize until he could no longer do so.

He hadn't accounted for the fact that the situation would mean he'd have the redhead leaning close to him, mere millimeters between them. He would have hailed the scene, were it not for the fact that Youji was laughing somewhere in the background—along with Omi, no less—at his state. "Ken –kun!" the young blonde's voice sounded amused even then, "it really doesn't hurt—"

He would have growled if Aya hadn't already told him to keep still. He was shaking as it was, his palms unbelievably sweaty and his skin clammy. He had avoided looking at the needle the redhead would be using, choosing to focus on the inside membranes of his eyes instead, and was slowly discovering that…eyes closed as they were, the fact that Aya was sitting before him—and the fact that he had no idea when he would attack—was arousing despite the situation.

An unwarranted shiver ran through him.

Risking a peek with his right eye, he found Aya turned a little on his side, looking through their first aid kit, pale fingertips running over the various compartments of the box. He was wearing his sleeveless black shirt—it being only something he wore when he was planning on working with his katana—and the creamy expanse of skin that was left naked to the eye was certainly a pleasing surprise. He was almost disappointed he hadn't opened his eyes earlier.

"Ne, Aya-kun…what earring are you using?"

"Mine."

Ken look upwards curiously, wanting to meet the redhead's eyes, but found that his leader wasn't looking at him. Aya dug his hand in his pocket, pulling out a small beige box. He handed it to Ken, fingertips brushing against his the slightest bit, and went back to finding an adequately sized needle. He didn't have any of the piercing type, but he certainly had more than enough medical ones to choose from.

The chocolate eyed youth slowly drew open the small case he'd been given and pulled out an earring that was the mirror of the one Aya wore. He held it in his hand experimentally, biting his lip a little at the knowledge of what he'd been given, and closed his palm around the hanging earring. _It was the one that would've belonged to Aya-chan._

The one she had held in her hand for the past two years.

And the one that—for one reason or another—Aya had seen fit to give to Ken.

He looked up once more, and found those amethyst eyes gazing steadily at him. "Ready?"

He nodded, feeling somewhat indebted, and curled his fingertips around the edge of the stool he sat on, bracing himself for the pain to come. He debated closing his eyes, but decided against it. He wanted to see Aya…he wanted him to know he could handle it. He watched as the young man loaded the injection with what he presumed was anesthesia and watched him flick the loading tube experimentally.

Aya gave a terse nod then, and leaned forwards towards him. He was sitting on a wheeled stool, and his legs were spread wide enough that he could lean into Ken without brushing against him. With his left hand, he gently held on to the boy's chin, and turned it sideways. He let that hand settle down on the brunette's cheek. He maneuvered the needle dexterously, realizing momentarily that Omi should have done the piercing, as he was so adept with darts, before sliding the needle deftly through the brunette's lobe.

Ken hadn't felt a thing. What he did hear, however, was a loud 'pop.' Aya nodded at him. "Cartilage breaking."

Ken was about to finger his ear when the redhead swatted at his hand, creamy fingertips holding his captive. "Don't. It's an open wound."

He picked up the earring he'd given Ken, and dipped it in a pot of boiling water Youji had brought over. It would disinfect there. He certainly didn't want the youth's ear falling off three days later, all for the sake of a mission. He looked back towards him in the meantime, his gloved hands holding his ear captive, the needle still in its prior place—waiting to be replaced by the gold earring.

* * *

"How are you fairing, Ken-kun?"

Ken studied his reflection absently, the dangling earring catching the light from the early morning sun and glinting furtively. "It doesn't hurt."

"I told you it wouldn't."

The brunette continued staring into the mirror, hand mussing at his hair. "Didn't think we were similar at all, but…"

"Yeah. With the hair and the earring, you and Aya-kun look a lot more alike," the young blonde paused, "…but you're so much more tan, Ken-kun." The boy's rich chuckle filled the room, "Aya-kun reminds me of a porcelain doll, sometimes, he's so pale."

Pale. Pale all over. Like a vampire. Ken closed his eyes as he remembered exactly _how_ pale the redhead had been the other day—on the rooftop—when he'd shed his shirt beneath the steely light of the moon. He'd seemed like an angel then—ethereal, insubstantial…near translucent. "Yeah."

* * *

"It's a little scary."

Youji spooned off some fried omelet from the frying pan and relocated it into a small bowl. He eyed both Ken and Aya as he spoke, gaze lingering on the brunette-gone-redhead, and frowned. "I didn't think it was possible, actually."

Omi accepted the bowl Youji handed to him with a smile, "At least it lends for a more successful mission," he paused, and then, raising his voice, "Ne, Ken-kun—give us a demonstration with Aya's katana later!"

Soulful brown eyes rose at the suggestion, their color the only palpable difference from that of the redhead, and he gave a nod. "Sure." He looked toward his right then, where Aya was sitting cozily with a book, frameless glasses perched low on his nose. As if aware someone was watching him, Aya drew his gaze slowly from whatever piece of literature he'd been focused on and looked around. Brown met up with lavender in a matter of seconds.

* * *

"Remember what I told you, Ken."

Ken nodded, wisps of bright red hair obscuring his vision momentarily, and resisted the urge to push his eartails behind his ear. "No heroics, yeah, I remember, Aya. I won't pull one of your typical stunts, I promise."

The redhead frowned. "I'm serious, Ken. This is the first decoy mission, and if you make a false move it throws everything else out of perspective."

A soft, but sincere smile spread over his lips, "You worry too much, Aya. Trust me a little."

A hesitant nod was all the answer he received. "Ne…what are you going to be doing, anyway?"

"Monitoring."

"That's no fun. Go watch a soccer game."

* * *

It wasn't hard. It wasn't hard at all. Once he was dressed—head to toe—in Aya's gear, black trench buttoned, straps tightened—it wasn't hard to delve into his role. To walk with that slightly arrogant bearing—to scan the area habitually…grasp and release at his katana. _His_ katana.

He liked it actually. This person who was he for the time being. He caught a glimpse of crimson as he leaned forward, grinned at is likeness to the growing pool of red by his feet, and continued toward the target. No heroics tonight, Aya. None. It would be straight for the target. A clean cut. No noise. No gurgling sounds as bugnuks tore through delicate flesh; just a simple, silent slash. And perhaps a rolling sound later.

Nothing other than that.

* * *

"Target confirmed."

Omi jolted as his communicator cackled to life, static nearly rendering the message incomprehensible, "Siberian?"

"Abyssinian." The voice that corrected him was near deadly—whispered, but cold.

"Abyssinian, is the target in sight?" Omi cast Youji a strange look as the latter positioned himself atop the skylight, ready to drop in should Ken encounter any troubles.

"Target confirmed."

"Roger that. Eliminate."

And the communicator fell silent.

* * *

"Ken…you're a mess."

The brunette frowned a little at the comment, staring down to find Aya's usually immaculate trench covered in splatters of blood—some dark, some vibrant—and found his stomach gave an uncharacteristic lurch. "Seems you can't even be careful when you have a dignified weapon."

"Shh, Youji-kun…Are you all right, Ken-kun?"

"I'm fine."

The words were deep, mellow, and quiet. "It's not my blood."

Youji chuckled at the reply, "Glad to hear it. Can't wait to see what Aya's reaction is gonna be."

* * *

Aya pulled off his headset with a heavy sigh. All right. Target confirmed and eliminated. Ken had done a surprisingly clean job. And, should Kritiker intelligence prove correct, Yamoi's men should have been there to get a good look at Ken—_posing_ as Aya.

All that was done for now.

He stood and made his way toward the door, holding it open for his team with surprising accuracy. "Aya-kun! How'd you know we were back already?"

"A guess." He peered over the youth's head, searching for a familiar head of messy chocolate and frowning when he didn't find it. A smooth, tan limb—raised in the air—finally caught his eye. Ken was smiling absently, "Present."

He scanned the other habitually, taking in any possible injuries, stopping short when he realized the other was sopping wet with blood. He turned quizzically toward Omi and Youji—both of which shrugged simultaneously—and pulled Ken into the light of the Koneko. "Did you plow through a herd of buffalo?"

"What? No…" Ken didn't quite seem to catch the meaning of Aya's inquiry, glancing up at the taller man as though expecting an accolade of some sort. "No heroics." He tried a smile.

"Ken…you're…a _mess_."

He fingered the edges of his lapel and frowned at the caked quality of the cloth. He looked upwards, amethyst locking on amethyst, and gave a weak shrug, "People sure bleed a lot, ne, Aya?"

* * *

Aya inspected the sleeping man with a frown. He'd tended to their laundry earlier—feeling it was the least he could do after having been utterly useless for a mission—and had been surprised at the sheer amount of blood the soccer player had had on him. Even now, dozed off as he was, he could see the tell-tale matte finish of dried blood evident on the youth's dyed hair.

He put his fingers to his forehead and shuddered. It had been a mess. An utter mess.

_"You heard through the communicator, Omi. How many times?" _

_ "Just…once…I'm pretty sure—" _

_ The redhead shook his head no, "You can't…there's no physical way—a person doesn't shed that much blood with one clean cut. Not even bugnuks do that much damage." _

_ Youji stepped in from where he'd been smoking on the porch and offered his input, "Maybe he's used to it? The blood, I mean." _

_ "That makes no sense." _

_ But even then, he'd known that it did. It damn well made perfect sense._

"Ken?" Pale fingertips disappeared into an uncontrollable mess of red, "Ken…wake up."

A pair of dark brown eyes blinked upwards at him, "Aya…?"

He gave a sharp nod, "We need to talk. Rooftop."

* * *

Ken didn't bother waiting for the redhead to help him up, using his newfound arm-strength as leverage, he pulled himself through the roof's opening, glancing curiously at his comrade. "It's three o'clock in the damn morning, Aya."

"How many slashes, Ken?"

It wasn't a question as much as it was an accusation.

"No heroics, Aya."

"That doesn't answer the question."

The shorter man looked away, eyes scanning the sleepy opaqueness of the town below, "Did you want me to die?"

"No heroics and suicide are a long ways apart, Ken."

"He was going to kill me."

Nevermind to say that he had dropped his katana on the better part of instinct—balling up his fists, squeezing inwards, to find that all the target had suffered had been a rough hit to the gut. Aside from the groan that had followed, there had been no guttural moan—no splattering sound. And he'd realized that he'd had no bugnuks. And that he'd tossed away his weapon to the side. "Adrenaline does funny things to you."

"You _massacred_ him."

"Did I?" there was on odd sort of smile on his face now, "I couldn't see. There were no lights. Instinct is another funny thing."

"There was nothing left of him, Ken. They aren't releasing footage of the crime scene because it was so ghastly."

"No heroics, Aya." The repetition of his mantra was growing near psychotic in its persistence and anxious in its tone.

"That's not how I told you to do it."

"One slash. One hit. One wound."

"That's not how you did it."

Losing control was one of the many effects of fear and survival upon the human person. He'd never faced anyone after his life with a katana. The bugnuks had been his original weapon of choice—they had molded to his psyche…he understood how they worked—they were a mere extension of his body. For all the training Aya might have given him, the katana was but a weapon to him…not another limb—not another junctured advantaged…but a foreign element that could prove helpful. Nothing more and nothing less. And then, quite softly, "I didn't want to die."

"I thought you did. Yesterday. Right here. You said you did."

The pseudo-redhead looked towards the indicated area, closing his eyes as the scene replayed itself in his mind, "I said I wasn't afraid to…and that maybe…maybe it'd be for the best. Fear makes you reckless, you know."

"Not anymore than a lack of fear does."

* * *

"Hello? No…no Ms. Kimiko…there won't be soccer practice…for a while—I've got…umm…" he paused as he looked around, willing any one of his teammates to appear, "I've got…well—meningitis. What? No…of course it's not lethal…no…not at all."

"Meningitis?" Youji chuckled as he pulled open the refrigerator, pulling out a jug of milk, "You _do_ know that that's nearly ninety-nine percent fatal?"

The question was rhetorical, and Ken glared. "What else am I supposed to do? Tell everyone that I'm a decoy on a mission and can't see the light of day because…._gasp_…I'm a living replica of that ice-block we keep upstairs."

Youji raised both brows curiously, "Ice-block? That's certainly a new one. You didn't seem to mind much as of late."

"Yeah well, maybe I'm just tired," he sat near the blonde, pulling the glass of milk toward him and taking a swig, "and I don't feel like being locked up in here anymore."

Youji made to snatch his glass back, but the brunette held on. "And you know the worst part? Everyone keeps giving me these weird looks. Telling me I'm acting all weird."

"That's because you _are_, Kenken."

The glass broke in his grip, sending chards of glass flying in every which way—a couple imbedding themselves in his palm. He showed no signs of caring—or of having noticed. "Fuck."

"Sword hand? _Not_ a smart move."

Throwing out another glare towards the blonde, he rose, using his left hand to squeeze slightly at his right, and thundered up the stairs toward his apartment. By the time he was at his door he was having a hard time figuring out exactly how he was supposed to _open_ it, given the fact that both his hands were bloodsoaked. Irony was a bitch.

He winced a little, using his injured hand to turn the handle, and walked straight into a white-clad Aya.

Fucking hell.

"Sorry."

He made to turn, quite awares that Aya's near immaculate white turtleneck now had a gracious blood smear across its front, and was startled when the latter's hands tightened about his wrist. "What now?"

"Cut it. On a glass."

"Come on, then."

He followed the redhead toward the bathroom, initial rush of adrenalin fading so that he was now aware of the dull pounding and strident ache in his palm. "You've got bits imbedded," Aya kneeled as he spoke, fishing the first aid kit from under the sink, and pushed him toward the toilet.

He opened the case on the floor, searching about it—fingertips skimming the surface of utensils here and there—until he came away with tweezers of sorts. He ripped open the sterilized pack it came in and, having washed both their hands, set about his task. Ken knew—even before the man's announcement, that he was going to have a hell of a time trying to keep still. "Six. Six big pieces and two little ones. Keep still."

Ken closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths—trying to detach himself from all sensation, well aware that Aya had a rather steady hand and that if the tweezers caught on his skin—it would have partially been his own fault for moving around so much. "All right."

The redhead pulled away and regarded him absently, "How'd the glass break?"

"I squeezed it."

Aya nodded, not bothering with lectures, and seized his hand, walking him over towards the sink. He used his teeth to pull open the peroxide, pouring ample amounts of it on the boy's hand. Next came the iodine, and finally, the bandages. "Thanks."

There was no reply.

* * *

"Aya?"

It was the middle of the night.

"Aya?"

Another furtive knock at his door.

"Aya?"

Finally, the door eased open of its own accord, and Ken found himself in the middle of a relatively unfamiliar room, door closed behind him and the soft breathing of the redhead before him. He shifted uncomfortably, not knowing exactly _where_ to go, and padded hesitantly toward the redhead. "Ne…Aya…"

He reached out tentatively, finally letting his fingertips alight on the other's naked shoulder, and gave him a slight shake. "Aya…"

Violet eyes blearily fluttered, finally blinking open to reveal a not-quite-lucid Aya Fujimiya. "Ken?" the man sat up slightly, supported by his elbows, and rubbed at his eyes as he took in the sight of him—red hair rumpled, earring dangling from his right ear, tan skin seemingly darker under the light of the moon. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep." The voice was impassive.

The older man said nothing, continuing to look at him as though he'd disappear, "All right then."

"All right then?"

The covers that were lifted were enough of an explanation for him.

* * *

"Where were you last night, Kenken? The chibi needed your help on something or other…"

"Hmm?" Ken frowned a little as he tried to coax open a bottle of juice without jostling his injuries, "I was with Aya."

"The _whole_ night?"

He paused, apparently sensing the implications in Youji's tone before glaring, "Yeah, the whole night."

Jade eyes flickered absently toward his bandaged hand, "How's that going, by the way?"

"It's all right. It'll be healed by the time we have to hit Yamoi's."

"You sure?"

Crimson locks fell forward at his nod, "Yeah. It's just a bit annoying."

"Hey, Ken, I meant to ask you—" Youji paused as he gave him a hesitant look, "…about how you're feeling."

"I'm all right, Youji. There's no need to worry. It only hurts when I bang it against something or other. Is that all?"

"I meant…about how you're feeling about this whole thing. The chibi and I were talking—"

"You and Omi?" purple eyes flashed with a peculiar sort of emotion, "What about?"

"Well…about the validity of this mission…we were thinking…"

"No."

"No?"

"No…we've gotten this far. It's ridiculous to try and back out now."

Ken gave a bit of a sigh, standing and making his way toward the window, "Besides…it's something I have to do."

"You don't _have_—"

"Have you talked to Aya about this?"

Youji shook his head slightly, "No. I haven't mentioned it, why?"

"He seems to think the same way."

* * *

It should have been awkward. Nature told him that after spending a night in Aya's bedroom—in his bed, nonetheless—there should have been _some_ sort of discomfort floating between them, but there was none. No nervous glances, no hesitant discussions…no flustering flushes.

Ken looked curiously toward his teammate, absorbing his poised pose and finding himself imitating it almost by second nature. Aya read an awful lot. And that part of his interest seemed to exude itself in every other aspect of his bearing.

He'd always thought Aya resembled an aristocrat a bit _too_ much for his own good, what with that pale skin of his. "Aya?"

A brief nod signaled that the redhead was listening. Ken shifted a little lower on the couch, so that his head thunked briefly on the seating pad and his feet dangled from the edge of the opposite armrest. "Are you really that worried about me?"

Ken supposed his question startled the other enough that he looked up from his reading, violet eyes puzzled. "Ken?"

"No," Ken sat up suddenly, bare feet nestling themselves on the gray carpeting, torso tilted towards the redhead, hands clasped before him, "Youji told me…that you were concerned about me."

"We all are."

"No…no….I meant _you_…."

He paused as if in thought, eyes gleaming in that chocolate hue that Aya seldom had a chance to take in anymore, "I'm okay, Aya. Really." And he was smiling that smile of his that seemed to light up the world, and even though long tapers of red were clouding his vision, Aya knew that he wasn't all right—that he was far from safe, and even farther from okay.

"I really am, Aya."

"Yeah. I know, Ken. I know."

* * *

_Read? Review?_


	6. Blood VI

* * *

_**Dyed Crimson**  
The Weaver Atropos_

* * *

**_Dyed Crimson, Blood VI_**

It was their second night together.

Ken burrowed further under Aya's pristine white comforter, taking in the scent of spicy lavender and turning on his side, surprised at finding the redhead's face a breadth away, eyes closed and puffy lips slightly open as he drew in air. Ken found his eyes riveted on the sight, tongue darting out and licking at his own lips as he spied Aya's. And he couldn't help himself really. Aya's lips were so full…and he looked so approachable then—so soft, as though he'd break. And he found himself pressing his lips against Aya's own, relishing the feel of them—of their silkiness—and he was mildly aware that the redhead was kissing him back, mouth open—not tense, but relaxed, as though the action were one he were used to.

He sighed a little against the redhead's mouth, grateful the redhead was sleeping and hoping he'd have no clue of what had transpired, and blinked his closed eyes open to find an amethyst pair staring steadily back at him.

Aya was breathing softly, his eyes clouded by sleep—pink lips were puffy from the effort. His gaze wasn't incriminating—not accusing—it was simply curious, and perhaps the slightest bit uncertain. "Ken…?"

And pale milky fingertips reached out in time with the query, shakingly settling at his cheek, the moonlight bathing them a translucent white. And he was touching him so gently—so gingerly…as though he feared the brunette would vanish at any given moment. "It's okay, Aya—I'm okay—" he flashed the redhead a tender, almost melancholic smile, "I'm right here."

* * *

"I'll be near Wallow's Cave if anything goes wrong. That's nearly 2.8 miles from the drop off point, and 5 miles from the checkpoint. A good 10 minute jog should get you there from the warehouse."

Aya paused and regarded the redhead opposite him with an odd mixture of emotion. "It's the closest I can get in case anything goes wrong without compromising the mission."

Youji gave a stark nod, "So then, Ken's in all on his own? The chibi and I are on standby near the entrance? Isn't that dangerous? Delivering the decoy straight to the wolves?"

The smaller of the two blondes shifted uneasily and nodded in agreement. "I don't like it. I don't care what Manx said. It's too risky."

"We can always abort." That was Youji.

But they knew it wasn't an option. Not really. And besides, the redhead cast Ken another absent glance, he wouldn't agree to it.

"Can Youji-kun and I at least _tag_ Ken-kun?"

Aya seemed to consider the possibility. "If we're not following Kritiker's exact orders, I don't see why we can't all just go in as a group."

"You mean abort the decoy mission and go in as ourselves?" Youji paused, glancing at Ken for input before turning back to his leader, "Wouldn't that be counterproductive at this rate?"

"It is." Ken. Finally. "It makes no sense. They want Aya—for whatever reason that might be. Giving into any instinct in fear of what might happen to me defeats the purpose of the mission entirely."

"But what if it's _not_ about Aya-kun? What if it's about _you_…what if they want _you_?"

"Then they'll follow us no matter what we do."

* * *

Ken regarded the redhead quietly from where he sat sprawled at the floor, his back resting against the bed's box and mattress. "Are you really that worried?"

"I'd feel a whole lot better if I were somehow involved in the mission."

Ken nodded, frowning a little and dropping his gaze. "I keep having this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach," he looked up, rubbing a little at his right eye where his contact was beginning to bother him, "and I keep seeing all these things in my dreams."

Aya paused in his thinking and turned toward the man, "You what?"

"I can't sleep," Ken took in a deep breath, scratching nervously at the side of his neck, "I haven't been able to sleep for the longest time, but now…now I really can't sleep. Not even a minute's worth. I don't think I even drift off. I stay awake all this time."

And Aya knew that it was true. He could see the dim outline of gray against the boy's lower lids. His skin had gotten awfully pale with the passing days, too. "And whenever I do sleep, I have these dreams that I can never remember, and all I know is that when I wake up, I'm scared of something that I can't remember…and all I know is that I'm scared."

"Ken?"

"And I know what's gonna happen…and I feel like I know what happens in my dreams, but I can never quite seem to remember enough of the sentiment to realize what's going on…but I can feel it—in my stomach—this premonition."

Aya stood from the chair he'd been sitting on and dropped himself directly before the brunette, searching out his eyes, but the young man was in another world, his eyes glazed, looking someplace to the right with a fear and melancholy that was disheartening. "And all I ever see is red. Red everywhere. Just like your hair. In pools around my feet—on the walls…and on me. And that's all I can ever remember," he looked up at him, expression broken, "…that's all I ever remember."

The redhead sighed. "It'll be okay, Ken. It'll be okay."

* * *

He offered him a wavering smile. "See you at the cave, ne?"

Aya nodded, holding the door open for his comrades as they went off. He had another day before driving off to the cave. And that meant twenty four hours between then, and the mission. He was still annoyed at the last minute change in plans that swapped his position for Youji's. He'd be left to monitoring instead. Irritated, he turned back toward the house and looked about him.

He couldn't help the shiver that overcame him.

* * *

Five hours. Aya adjusted his headset, typing some commands into his laptop until he was able to get a clearer connection. The less static, the better. " Bombay?"

A few cackling sounds later, and the communicator vibrated with his teammate's voice. "Abyssinian. Good to hear from you." He sounded anxious—wired, but grateful all the same.

"How are the final preparations?"

"Perfect. Siberian's reviewing positions with Balinese as we speak."

Aya nodded to himself. All right. The mission was in order thus far. "And how are you, Aya-kun?"

The redhead felt himself breathe a soft, shaky sigh. So much for protocol. "I'm okay. You?"

"Could be better."

* * *

"Aya?"

"The lines aren't secure."

There was a pause. "I can't sleep."

"Close your eyes. You'll find that it works."

There was something about the pause that followed that made Aya wish he'd said something else.

The communicator clicked dead.

* * *

"Abyssinian is moving toward the second floor. Target confirmed at room 500 east wing, southern entrance."

Aya drew up the information Omi had provided on his lap top and traced his comrades' paths through the warehouse. Escape routes were plotted throughout, but he had to keep a steady eye on them to make sure they were following the correct entry plans.

"Abyssinian…off course—hey! Hey!" Youji's voice rose as he sought to get someone's attention, "Off course and off target. Retreating toward opposite end of the east wing corridor."

Aya switched through the channels in his headset until he got to Ken's, "Abyssinian—you're on the wrong entryway of the wing—return to east 500."

"Aya…?"

"Abyssinian—I repeat, you're on the wrong entryway, return to east 500, Balinese and Bombay are there to assist you in any—"

"Aya…I don't…I don't—feel…"

Aya's eyes took in the digital tracking blueprints before him, able to make out the blinking blue light that had stopped at the juncture of the east and south corridors. From the north, a blinking yellow dot was approaching in the form of Balinese, and a red one from the west signaled Bombay's approach.

"Abyssinian!" it was Omi's voice. "Abyssinian!"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized the youth was calling for him and not for Ken. " Bombay?"

"Abort mission. Abort mission. Target escaped—Siberian…is on a rampage."

"What?"

"He's—"

There was a pause and for a minute all he heard was static, "He's ranting on about red. Red everywhere? Balinese has got him cornered but—"

" Bombay?"

"Aya-kun…hurry up, ne?"

* * *

Aya didn't think he'd ever ran ten miles any faster. By the time he arrived—panting and slick with sweat—it was to find a myriad of bodies at his feet, all bearing the tell tale slash of the katana. A few feet to his right he could make out a trail of blood—similar to one made by a body that has been dragged—leading to the eastern corridor. He felt his stomach tighten.

He followed the trail despite his better judgment—knowing through the last digital readout he had seen where it would lead him. And, inevitably, it did. There, slumped against the south/east juncture was Ken, looking for all the world like a confused child. Omi was to his right, patting him gently on the shoulder, his eyes bewildered. Youji was a little bit farther off, nursing a slicing cut at his chest.

He felt he should say something, but didn't exactly know how to begin.

"Aya…?" Ken drew up violet eyes and looked at him in fear, as though he were a ghost of sorts, "…Is it really you?"

"Yeah," he dropped to his knee, examining the blood splattered across Ken's cheeks, and frowned. "You okay?"

The boy smiled slightly, "I'm okay. I'm…fine."

He nodded and pulled Ken's body to his. He locked eyes with Omi over the boy's shoulder and could detect the blonde's uneasiness. Youji still hadn't approached.

"How'd you get the cut?" Aya to Youji.

The older of the two blondes almost didn't seem willing to answer. Then, finally, "…I think Abyssinian got the targets confused," he winced and pressed Omi's discarded sweatshirt to his wound, "he came at me a bit…hard."

* * *

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

The voice was soft, almost melancholic. "I think I'm crazy."

"You're not. I don't think you are."

"But what if I am?"

"Why'd you attack Youji?"

"I…I didn't—"

Aya stared intently at his companion. It'd been three days of silence since the botched mission. Ken had slept the entire time without waking. Youji's wound was healing, thankfully, though the blonde was still a little gruff towards Ken.

"I didn't know it was Youji."

"He called out to you."

"Everyone called out to me. A million voices," for a minute, he paused, "I thought Mastermind was around at first—that's usually what it feels like when I hear it."

"Hear what?"

The sitting redhead waved his hand around, "The voices calling. That's why I thought it wasn't Youji."

"What about Omi?"

Ken squinted. "What?"

"You didn't attack Omi."

"He was…small."

"Small?" Somehow, Aya didn't think the smallest Weiss would cling to the comment as much of a compliment.

Ken nodded, "He was too small. I…knew it was him."

"And me?"

Chocolate eyes brought themselves upwards hesitantly, "You weren't there."

"You were calm when I arrived."

"Omi said you were on your way."

"Is that why you stopped?"

Ken shrugged. "I don't really…remember." The young man rubbed at his head. "I kind of blacked out, if you want to put it that way. Just saw red everywhere."

_"And all I ever see is red. Red everywhere. Just like your hair. In pools around my feet—on the walls…and on me. And that's all I can ever remember…"_

"Do you think it was Mastermind?"

"What?" Ken looked startled.

"Do you think Mastermind gave you those dreams?"

The tanned man licked his lips and sighed, "Sad to say…but I think I'm insane all on my own," he pulled a tight smile, "What a great accomplishment."

Aya frowned. He was about to speak when a knock came to the door. Omi peaked his head through hesitantly a few moments later. He beamed at Ken once he saw he was out of bed and entered the room fully. "Dinner's ready."

"We'll be down in a bit."

Omi nodded, "Glad to see you're better, Ken-kun."

* * *

He was having a little bit of trouble focusing. His vision blurred a little whenever he caught sight of that damned bloody mop of Aya's hair, or when a few wisps of his own orangey mane came into view.

"And to celebrate!" Omi uncorked a bottle of wine, "Here's to the end of a mission!"

Youji clapped and cheered and Ken managed a weary grin. Aya stood, heading towards the cabinet, and pulled out four wine glasses. He placed one before each of them before sitting down again.

Omi poured each glass slowly, careful not to let any stray droplets fall elsewhere, and glared a bit when Youji downed his in a gulp. "Youji-kun!"

"Here's to…" the blonde raised his cup but was at a loss, "help me out, Youji—you're the wasteful drinker, not me."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Let's see…Here's to—being safe again. Together. Without trying to slice off your teammate's arm. Or shoulder. Or just flat out take out his heart and eat it."

That last bit was aimed at Ken and he knew it. Exhaling a pent up breath he nodded and went to raise his cup. A knock on the door distracted him for the second time that day and his glass—and its contents—skittered across the table, drenching him and the pristine white tablecloth in a dark broody red.

He stood and blinked hastily, eager to get the image of the marred tablecloth out of his mind. In his eyes, the seeping liquid reminded him too much of drying, congealed blood. It was of a similar color—deep, dark…almost life giving.

Aya watched with a sick sort of rapture as Ken's eyes lost their focus. They glazed slightly and he teetered on his feet just the slightest bit.

"Look who's here!" Omi smiled, "Sakura-chan thought she'd drop by."

Youji nodded his greeting, but Aya kept his eyes fixed on Ken. The brunette took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, bracing himself on the table as his world spun.

"Ken-kun!" Sakura squealed, apparently missing the pained look on the man's face, "You're drenched! And your hair! You _dyed_ it!"

Pale pink lips drew apart and for a moment, Aya wondered if Ken was going to say something. Instead, he breathed in rather shakily and opened his eyes. "Sakura-chan," the smile he offered her was far from his usual, "It's…good…good to see you."

He looked about the table once more, gaze oddly fixated on the dark red of the spilled wine, and shook his head a little. "I have to go."

"Ken-kun?" That was Omi.

"We'll be back in a little bit." With that, Aya reached for the other's arm, in time to feel the man sag a bit against him, and made for the stairs.

* * *

"What do you feel when it happens?"

Ken wrung his hands. They were up at the roof. The brunette was sprawled against the roof siding, back against the cool plaster and Aya was a few feet away, sitting on the grail that covered the chimney when it wasn't in use. "Like I fainted, or something."

"So you're not conscious."

"No…it's not like that. Have you ever fainted? It's hard to describe to someone, I suppose. It happened tons of time to me—soccer players pass out on a regular basis," he chuckled, "It's kinda funny, actually."

"So what happens, then?"

"Well…one time I passed out on the soccer pitch. We had been running laps 'cause some ass decided to get on the coach's nerves, and we were on the 10th mile, when I got this sort of whoozy feeling. I kept on running, but my vision would blacken and I'd see these sort of spots and then my vision would blur just before coming back. But it's that sort of instinct—when you're running, you just keep on running…it's momentum, inertia, whatever that thing was called. So, it went on like that for a bit until the whole thing just blacked and I couldn't see anything, and couldn't hear anything so I was unconscious…but I still had this sort of vague feeling of what was going on. I knew that I had fainted—or something of the sort, and I could hear voices calling out, I just didn't know what they were saying. Everything was blurred. That's kinda how it feels whenever…I see red like that."

"But it never happened before?"

"The fainting on the field? Tons of times."

"No, I mean, the redness triggering it."

"No. I don't think it's the redness of something exactly," he quirked his brow, "else I'd go into a fit whenever I looked at you."

"Are you going to dye your hair again?"

"I thought I'd let it grow out. Make it a little bit longer, maybe."

"And your ear?"

Ken smiled, "Am I allowed to keep the earring?"

* * *

"You okay Ken-kun?"

"Yeah…my head aches a little. I'm fine."

Omi continued sweeping up around the shop, humming a little to himself. "Ne, Ken-kun?"

"Yeah?"

"You should really do something about your hair. It's getting…multi-colored."

The man chuckled and scratched at his head. His dark brown roots had begun coming through, so that the unnatural redness of his dyed hair contrasted with his natural hair color. "I'm waiting for it to grow out. I don't want to dye it brown just for the sake of color."

"It's getting pretty long, too."

"Yeah," Ken ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it a bit, "I didn't think I'd like it longer, but…it's a surprisingly comfortable thing."

Omi grinned, "How long you growing it? Long as Youji's?"

"A little less."

"And the earring?"

"Keeping it."

"I knew you'd keep it, even after all that whining."

"Well…it hurt enough to make me keep it as token of that damned night."

The blonde's smile wavered slightly, but he recovered soon enough, "You know. There's something different about you, Ken-kun. You're kinda the same, but not."

"Different good, or different bad?"

"Good. Different good."

"What's all this talk about difference?" Youji sauntered in, stretching indolently and letting his already short-cropped shirt rise even higher.

"Ken-kun. Doesn't he look different?"

Youji turned towards him, leaning until they were almost nose to nose and scrutinizing him curiously. "Tell me, Omi. Was your first indication—the red hair, the earring, or the amethyst eyes?"

"They're brown, Youji."

"Oh?"

The blonde turned back towards him. His forehead wrinkled and he shrugged absently, "I coulda sworn you had your contacts on."

They all looked up as the door to the Koneko jingled. They welcomed the girls with pleasant 'good-mornings' and were halfway through an order when one of them pointed at Ken and squealed happily. "He's got an _earring!_" They gushed on that fact for a bit before moving on, "And he's dyed his _hair_!"

Ken pulled at his ear with a nervous smile, tugging on the convenient earring there before busying himself with something else.

"_No way! Is he…is he wearing Aya-kun's earring! Does this mean?"_

The soccer player turned around uncertainly, not sure he wanted to hear the rest of that sentence, when his leader appeared at the door, red hair immaculately in place, earring hung from its usual spot. The girls seemed confused.

"Ne, Omi-kun," Mai-chan tugged at the boy's sleeve, "Why does Ken-kun have an earring on that's the same as Aya-kun's?"

The blonde smiled anxiously, "Ken-kun wanted to pierce his ear, but didn't have an earring…so Aya-kun did it for him and let him have the other earring he had."

"No way! Aya-kun knows how to pierce ears!"

"He did his own, actually."

"_Really_?"

Omi smiled.

"And why'd Ken dye his hair red?"

"Uh…"

"Was he trying to imitate Aya-kun?"

"Well…what it was…"

Youji threw his arm around Omi's shoulder and grinned, "Ken wanted to go all out. New dye-job, earrings, the whole she-bang. So he asked if we would help. Luckily, Aya had some dye left over from when he retouched his hair last week, so he let Ken have the rest of it."

"Aya-kun's hair is dyed?" the girls were quiet, almost…in disbelief.

Youji nodded, "Looks real, doesn't it?"

From where he was, Aya debated throttling Youji's neck. Nevertheless, there wasn't much point in getting flustered about it; he wasn't particular about what those girls thought about him anyway.

"I never knew you were so vain, Aya. Dyeing your hair to maintain this façade of an unattainable _natural_ red hair color."

Aya bopped the tanner man standing beside him on the head. "At least I don't look like Mastermind with my attempts."

"Oh, touché, touché."

"So you're feeling better?" He regarded the shorter man with interest, making out with a subconscious sort of smile the brown roots that peeked out beneath the crimson of his dyed hair.

"I've got a bit of a headache, but I'm okay."

* * *

"So…it's your target, Aya-kun."

The redhead nodded. It had been a good two weeks since the mission at the Cave and they were finally hitting Yamoi, and, though they were all still a bit queasy about the whole thing, they had decided to continue on with their lower-key jobs until something bigger came around. They hadn't bothered telling Manx about Ken's outburst. They figured she and Persia would have found out themselves after they visited the crime scene. They were the head of the police force, anyway. They would've been called to the most extreme and gruesome of cases.

She hadn't questioned them about it when she came with their latest mission assignment anyway.

Ken was going, much to Aya's dismay. The two were, however, paired, so that eased the churning in his stomach the slightest. Still, it felt odd. The decoy mission might have been over, but Ken still had remnants of _him_ floating about. It was visible in the way he sat, spoke…observed the places around him. Some of the girls at the Koneko had already mistaken him for Aya a few times.

"All right, Siberian, you cover Abyssinian on the right—Balinese and I will be by the east gate. It should be a quick in and out…if there's any trouble, just call out, we'll be there in about two or three minutes, determining who we may find on the way. The target has maybe ten bodyguards, the majority of which are in civilian garb, so be on guard for that."

Nodding, they entered the place. Omi's wiring was quick, and within minutes, they were bathed in a permeating, abundant darkness. "Abyssinian?" the voice was anxious—agitated.

"Here."

He felt the heat of the body that pressed close to him from behind, eager not to be separated in the blinding darkness. A few seconds later, the red emergency lights flicked on and the place was bathed in crimson. Turning, he could see Ken wince a bit. "He should have left the lights off. We're easier to spot like this."

There were other reasons, but at the moment, neither was willing to accept the possible detriment as existing.

Aya escalated the stairs to the main office easily, his footfalls near soundless as he quickly made his way upwards. Ken followed directly behind, shielding his eyes a little from the light by staring into the black of Aya's trench. It felt odd now, to move around in his jeans and sneakers and leather jacket. After having been trained in Aya's clothes—in the heavy coat with a myriad of what he thought were unnecessary buckles—it felt odd to be in his lightweight clothing. He missed the weight of the katana in his hand, much more of the reassuring presence of its sheath at his waist. Even now, as he flexed his hand open and closed, sheathing and unsheathing his bugnuks, the movement felt unnatural and forced.

Aya paused abruptly before him. Ken bumped into him, his nose and forehead meeting between the juncture of the man's shoulder blades. It was hard muscle and it hurt. Ken brought up his left hand and rubbed at his nose. "You're distracting me."

"What?"

"Stop with the noise."

The noise? He flexed his hand and relaxed a little, only to be met with Aya's glare. "That's what I mean." His eyes were staring incriminatingly at the bugnuks. Oh.

"Sorry."

Well, it wasn't his fault, really. He just wasn't used to them quite as much as he once was. He repeated the action in his left hand, comforting himself in the habit, and moved forward when Aya said nothing. Their communicators cackled to life. "Abyssinian, to the left of you there should be an alternate stairwell. It's one of the major escape routes and leads directly to the main offices. It's used by the chiefs when there's an invasion, attack, or something of the like. A quick exit for our target. Try to block it. If they catch wind of us before we can dispose of the target, then at least we can meet him halfway there."

"Roger." Aya's voice was a soft whisper.

Aya made a sharp left and continued walking, his footsteps near silent. They were so silent, in fact, that Ken had a hard time deciphering when he was walking from when he had stopped. So much so that, in the next second, he'd crashed into Aya's back. Again. "Sorry…Can't see."

He was aware that the redhead stiffened, but Aya said nothing in response.

"This must be it." Aya ran his hands across the expanse of steel that felt somehow different from the rest of the metallic wall grating. "Do we break it?"

Ken shrugged. He leaned against it experimentally, half expecting nothing to happen, and blinked a little in surprise when the wall gave way. "Creepy. It opens like in those movies where they guy who pushes it disappears to the other side."

He led the way this time around, thankful that the emergency lighting in that area was—for one reason or another—a bright metallic blue, and ascended the stairs a bit more quickly. Aya followed behind, studying his partner with a sort of detached interest, watching the way Ken would pause when he thought he'd heard a noise, only to spring up again the next moment.

Ken was like that. Persia had told him at one point that there were two types of murderers. The first, he'd said, were reckless and impulsive and tried to get to the kill quickly. In their haste, they often made mistakes and overlooked certain things. These were liable to face death since they were so risky. The second, he'd said, were the stealthy, calculating killers. These plotted and planned and made sure everything was at its optimum before attempting an assault. They were patient, knew when to retreat, and took in every minute detail. He'd asked him which one he was. At the time, he'd been sure of his answer.

Persia had proceeded to pull out a chart—or, dossier, really—each bearing a photograph of his future teammates and gone through them one by one. _"Tsukiyono Omi. Type two. Kudou Youji, Type two. Fujimiya Aya—you said, Type two. Hidaka Ken, Type one." He'd looked at him then, "You look a little surprised." _

_ He had continued regardless, "Every team needs a type one. They're the ones that drive the others. They're the impulse, the mania—the recklessness that leads to success. You weren't wrong in ascertaining that Type two was, for the most part, the most desirable type. Do you know how these guys had their types determined?" _

_ He'd shaken his head no. _

_ "I asked and they answered. Hidaka's got a fiery disposition. He had no qualms about his way of going about things. And I tell you this: Type ones are dangerous. They're reckless, they're impulsive, they don't think much. But they fight passionately. They disregard the circumstances at times, throw away logic, and fight for the sheer instinct of it. Type one is the teammate who stubbornly ignores rules and goes back to rescue his teammates because he knows that's what should be done. They make mistakes, sure, and sometimes they end up in masochistic situations because of it…but think about it. The type twos…they're the real murderers, I think. They plot. They plan. They analyze ways to bring about death. Type ones go with instinct—there's no remorse because they haven't planned much of anything. Everything and anything they do is determined by the moment. Type twos…they frighten me. Everything's forsaken to them. They're the real psychopaths."_

"You hear that?"

The brunette's voice was soft, raspy—"Sounds like singing." His face pulled into a bit of a smile, "The damn bastard's _singing_."

"We must be close, then," Aya nudged at the small of Ken's back, urging him on. Omi was going to turn the emergency lights off completely in a few minutes.

They continued up the staircase, Ken springing up them a bit too noisily for his liking, but keeping for the most part quiet. They soon reached the end.

Ken's breathing was ragged. He wiped at his lips and frowned. "You think it opens the same way?"

The words fell somewhere on his neck, and Aya turned to the smaller man out of realization of the fact. His gaze was distant, not quite there and Ken studied him curiously because of it. "Where does this open to?"

Aya brought a finger to his lips and tapped at his communicator, " Bombay. The entry door leads where?"

"The target's office. Do you want us to send him down the escape route?"

"Negative," Ken shook his head at Aya's look, "the lane is too narrow. Abyssinian and I will end up falling down it if we're attacked."

Omi frowned, "The best I can do is cut the lights and have you head in at that moment. You'll be in the dark for the kill, though."

"Are there windows?"

"Negative."

"What about the emergency lights?"

"We can keep them on—your entry will be a surprise regardless; nevertheless, I don't like the idea."

"And Balinese?"

"Abyssinian?"

"Can he make a direct entry through the main door? It'll give us enough time to catch sight of the target. The emergency lights can flick off then. Balinese can either exit or join in."

"Roger that, Balinese, are you aware of the change in the mission plan?"

"Roger."

Omi nodded, "All right. Give me an approximation, Balinese. How far are you from the target?"

"I'm standing three feet to your right, you idiot."

"Fifteen minutes, then, given the need for silence."

If it hadn't been dark, Youji would have seen the look he sent him.

"Fifteen minutes, then." Ken relaxed a little against the metal siding of the escape route. Aya nodded and sat on the uppermost step trying to figure out his strategy for the break in.

"_Why only one, then?" _

_"One?" _

_"Why only type one? Why not more?" _

_"One is enough. Type ones are…propense to certain characteristics. Certain outcomes. Given our field of work, we find that one Type one is…variable enough for the entire team." _

_"Propensity. Propensity to what?" _

_Persia had raised his brow, as if surprised by his lack of foresight, "Propensity to irrationality, propensity for ill-success, propensity for self-blame, propensity for—a myriad of things, actually. Type ones are vibrantly sensitive individuals." _

_"There's something else." _

_"Propensity to insanity, perhaps. We've been running these groups tests for a long while now. Type ones…tend to be more propense to crumble under the pressures of this type of lifestyle." _

_"So this guy's going to go crazy?" _

_Persia__ frowned, "I didn't say that he was. Propensity doesn't equal certainty Mr. Fujimiya. He's just as likely to survive as all the other of you are. Anyone on this team has some measure…of insanity to them already, wouldn't you say?" _

_He paused before continuing, a strange expression on his face. "Besides…anyone can go insane, given the right trigger, don't you think? The right motivation can do it all." _

"Abyssinian, Siberian, thirty seconds."

They both stood, their breaths held with equal anticipation. "Go."

At Omi's indication, they both burst through the door. They had all but three seconds before the red lighting flickered off and all was bathed in darkness once more. They had both caught sight of Youji, standing at the entrance, wire skillfully drawn, but while Aya had been almost distracted by his presence, Ken had lunged forward, drawing his bugnuks and pushing them inwards into the warm, yielding mass of a body before him.

He heard a gurgle and felt the hot, sticky substance that slid through his fingers, mingling with his skin, working its way past his digits all the way towards his elbow, where the liquid began to cool and drip off the joint periodically. He frowned when he caught sight of the red liquid pooling at his feet, the emergency lights back on.

He turned around quickly, scanning his surroundings to find Youji entangled with a victim of his own and Aya trying to bypass a stab. He could make out, amongst his blurry vision, the shape of another man, inching towards the exit route, gun drawn and aimed at Aya. He approached stealthily, bugnuks clenched tight, and let out a growl that was so unlike his usual tone of voice, that it surprised even him as he tackled the man to the floor, gauging at his throat instead of at his gut. The blood boiled and bubbled freely, gushing from the jugular and spurting wildly everywhere. The man's head had been almost severed, the kill being one that would have been trademark of Aya's katana had it not been for the messy cut. Even then, glossy eyes focused on Ken, their expression one of absolute horror.

He looked into those eyes, almost in rapture, taking in the glaze, and the expression, and the hatred that lay there despite the fear, and couldn't help leaning forward for a better look. Had that been what Mastermind had meant when he had said that people's minds tasted like honey? Somehow, however wild the analogy and connection be, Ken had a feeling he understood what the redhead had been implying when he'd said what he had.

The world spun around him, bright and colorful, and ruby and copper-colored and flowing and tangy. He leaned forward even more, almost breathing in the metallic of the man's blood. He licked at his lips, lost in the red that reigned all around, and felt the laughter bubbling at his throat. The redness of his hair, falling in wisps about his face, seemed a perfect ending to the entire scenario.

And then far away, like a beacon, he heard it. Calling him. Out to him. He blinked a few times and his vision blackened, but the voice was persistent. He shook his head, pushing himself off the body and landed on his rear. Arms came about him, a pair at each of his shoulders, and he was picked up. He looked about himself, eyes sliding in and out of focus, before fixing his gaze on a pale, milky face, bathed in crimson, framed by an even brighter hued hair. Amethyst eyes bore into him, seeking him out—calling to him at the same time. And he lost himself in that look, smiling until he could see again.

* * *

"It was weird…a little scary." Youji turned to Omi and frowned, "He went completely insane. There's not real other way of saying it. He slashed the guy's throat—_when_ has he ever done that? He usually goes for the chest, the heart, a quick death, or something a little less gory, bloody. This one was at the throat, to the jugular. The guy died of suffocation, and even then, it wasn't quick. And there he was, _sitting_ on his chest, looking as though it were the most beautiful thing in the world. It wasn't…Ken."

"It was Siberian."

"No. It wasn't Siberian—it wasn't Abyssinian, it wasn't anyone."

* * *

Ken stirred in bed, feeling the softness of a coverlet that he knew wasn't his. The scent on the fabric was softer than his own, manly and spicy with an essence he had grown familiar with. "Aya."

The redhead turned towards the man in bed, leaning towards a lamp to flick on the light. "How are you feeling?"

"Great!" Ken kicked off the blankets and stretched, "Never better. I feel…energized," he turned and smiled, his eyes vibrant and energetic.

There was something wrong with that vibrancy—something wrong with that carefree attitude that so belied what had happened only hours ago. Ken hated the aftermath of the missions, the heavy and brooding afterglow. He would sulk in his room, sleeping, or would shower with a quiet frown on his face. He was never refreshed—certainly not excited—after offing a target.

"You're looking at me like that again."

"Like what again?"

"Like you were looking at me that time, on the roof."

Aya could feel the slightest bits of a burn around his ears. "I wasn't looking at you in any particular way."

"You were," there was a confident nod, "you were almost sad…as though…as though you felt sorry for me."

Ken straightened from his position and turned on his side, his hand coming to Aya's right knee. "You don't feel sorry for me, do you?" His tone was uncertain, his expression anxious.

Aya shook his head. He reached out tentatively, hesitating minutely before ruffling at the young man's tussled locks. "I'm not."

The hand at his knee tightened. "I think…Youji's afraid of me." _I saw the way he looked at me_.

"He isn't. He wouldn't be."

"Ne, Aya—what type are you?"

"Type?"

"You know…one or two?"

"Two."

"Oh," Ken looked away, "…I'm the only one it seems? It's kinda lonely."

"I think…that we all have both types within us—one just struggles harder, reaches deeper."

"Tell you a secret?"

"What?" Aya seemed confused

Ken smiled a little and rubbed at his ear, "Wanna know a secret?"

Aya said nothing, staring at the smooth, impeccable tan face before him. The brunette took it as a sign to continue. "When I was little…I always—kinda knew that I was crazy."

"What was that?"

"I always kinda knew—I would always look at things differently."

When Aya said nothing, simply continued looking at him with those soft, sad eyes of his, Ken sighed. "To me, death—injury. It was always inconsequential. Always there, never minded. Natural."

"That's not an odd sort of sentiment."

"…You'd say the same of torture and murder?"

"You sympathize with murder?"

The brunette shrugged. "Not that I sympathize exactly," he shifted his position and sat Indian style, "More like…I can understand the murderer. Why he'd want to do what he does."

"Is this always?"

"Always?"

"You never mentioned it before; nor did you express the sentiment."

"It's a latent thing. Maybe Omi remembers it. He's the only one who was around when I started Weiss."

* * *

"I know it sounds odd," Omi fidgeted, "but Ken…he was a bit reckless like that when he first joined. I guess it was because there were only two of us, and because we were both so young—but…it seemed he always went overboard—there was always some extreme. It was as though…he were trying to take out his revenge on some convenient scapegoat."

Youji regarded the smaller blonde, unconvinced. "I can't really fathom that; Ken's cheerful, bright—natural."

"I was under the impression that we were speaking of Siberian. Although…if we're on the topic of Ken…he was different, too. He was sulky, broody—always quiet. He was…tortured. Tortured in every which way."

* * *

"You remember it?"

Ken shrugged, "It's not a matter of remembering. It's always been there."

"It doesn't scare you?"

"Why should it? It's just as much a facet of my life as other things are. It's something I can suppress given the right motivation—the right time, the right place."

"You can suppress it?"

"I try. It's like…a habit that you try to get rid off. It works for a bit, then it comes back."

"But you know its there."

"Acceptance is the first step, isn't it? I know I'm crazy—or I know I'd be perceived as crazy by other people, rather."

"So—"

"So I hold it in. Let it fester and rot. Only sometimes it refuses to be kept in."

"And what brings it on?"

Ken shrugged and shifted toward the edge of the bed, his legs almost twined with Aya's, "…Lately? It's been the red." He paused and leaned forward, nudging his nose against the bright crimson of Aya's hair. His eyes fell closed as he breathed in the man's unique scent, his hand coming upwards to tug on his eartails. He smiled a bit, his cheek rubbing against that of the other man, "The red that's everywhere."

Aya blinked to himself uncertainly, not sure where exactly the younger man was going with his confession, and tried to relax against Ken. He could feel lips at the very juncture of his neck and jaw—soft and teasing and so unlike what he'd thought it would be like. The kisses were like butterflies, fluttering briefly against his skin, just barely there.

He tried to stifle the odd notion that he was kissing himself, finding it entirely difficult when all that was in his range of vision was crimson red and a twinkling earring that was so like his own and something he so associated with his person that it was difficult to think anything else. "Ken," he nudged a little with his palm, wanting to look into those chocolate eyes—wanting to see the difference between him and the man, the softness and tenderness that those eyes conveyed.

The boy moved away, gaze curious if a bit deterred, and ran his eyes over his face, lingering on an amethyst pair. Aya focused on them—on the commonness of their color that he so loved; it might've been trite, the notion that chocolate was ordinary…all the much more because Ken's eyes—however common they might be in the world—were filled with a vibrancy and color that were unique only to him.

The brunette opened his mouth, about to say something, when a loud knock broke through the silence of the room. It was Youji. "Omi and I are going out for a bit. We'll be back with takeout. Lo Mein or fried rice?"

"Lo Mein." Ken's voice was surprisingly steady.

"All right, we'll be back in a bit."

And then, without another word, he was gone.

Ken smiled a little and sat back. "Sounds good. Do you want to go out for a walk?"

* * *

The two walked amiably along, shoulders occasionally bumping, each in his own mind. Ken smiled a bit as he took sight of the ice cream vendor the two had bumped into a few days ago. "Want some ice cream?"

"Won't that spoil dinner?"

Ken shrugged a little, "Would you mind that much?"

"Two ice creams, please. Strawberry and chocolate."

Aya regarded the man walking beside him amusedly, "At least your eating habits have improved somewhat."

"Shut up." But the tone was good natured and he was smiling.

* * *

"Popcorn?" Youji grinned teasingly at the youth who, since the popcorn incident a few days back, had been avoiding the food and all things which reminded him of it. Including what Youji had said—about having seen him at that club.

He'd been surprised at the time, bright blue eyes widening, when he'd realized what it was that Youji had been implying and—in essence—confessing.

_"What?" _

_"I saw you at the club, that day," Youji ran his free hand through his hair, naked torso reflecting the moody light from the tv set, "and I know you saw me." _

_Omi looked away. Yeah, he had seen. He'd seen Youji wrapped around another man as though there'd be no tomorrow. It hadn't bothered him that much. Heaven knew Youji had the right to like and go after whomever he liked. What—had—annoyed him had been his inability to figure it out sooner. It wasn't as though Youji had been deliberately trying to hide it. All those surreptitious touches at the Koneko, in the kitchen—they had all the more meaning now. _

_"Omi…I don't want you to think—" _

_"I don't really care, Youji. It's your decision." _

_He smiled to prove his point. "Who was that guy, anyway? He had you totally…in his hands." _

_Youji blushed a little. That man had been a little too much. After he'd caught sight of the Chibi and his friend his feelings had gotten a quick cooldown. As enticing as the tall raven-haired man had been, Youji had been too concerned over Omi's reaction to keep on. "Just someone I met." _

_"Do you like him?" _

_What kind of question was that? _

_"He's all right. Interesting enough." _

_"But you were going to sleep with him, weren't you? Regardless of whether he was 'interesting enough' or not?" _

_Youji frowned a little. It's wasn't as if what the Chibi was saying wasn't true. In fact, it was quite right—which was why he was so hesitant in replying. "It's okay, Youji-kun. I'm not that young." _

_"I don't know if we would've ended up sleeping together." _

_Not after you showed up, anyway. _

_"Why is that?" _

_…Although, I can't rightly tell you why_.

_The blonde shrugged, "A lot of things can happen. But…what were you doing there?" _

_The club wasn't an exclusively gay one, but it was one predominantly aimed at that kind of clientele. He wasn't sure why Omi would have been at **that** bar out of all the ones that were around, much more since it had an age-over requirement, and Omi was a minor for a few more years. "Who was your friend?" _

_"Motoki-kun. We have most of the same classes together." _

_"Why were you there?" _

_Omi seemed amused by the interrogation, "Probably for the same reason you were. Have a few drinks, have some fun, get laid. All or any of the above." _

_Youji found he couldn't quite reply to that. _

_"All this with Motoki, or with the guy as a bud?" _

_"If that's indirectly asking something that should better be asked directly, then I'm not replying." _

_Youji didn't know how to answer to that **either**_

_Omi smiled vaguely and took a swig from his pepsi cola. "I'm gay." Plain and simple. "I thought you would have figured it out by now. Or at least noticed." _

_"You…you **can't** be gay!" _

_Had that been a statement of denial or one of surprise? _

_Omi raised a fine brow, "Does that imply that I am physically incapable of being gay, or that there is an inability on your part to believe what I've said?" _

_"You can't." _

_Although…why couldn't he? _

_"I wouldn't lie about, Youji-kun." _

_"Are you sure?" _

_"Are **you**?" _

_All right. Fine. "Okay. So you're gay. How long?" _

_"How long what?" _

_"How long have you been frolicking around in that club?" _

_Omi shrugged a little. "It's not loose you know. I'm not you. I certainly don't sleep with every being who crosses my path. I haven't slept with anyone, actually. I…" the blonde looked away, blushing a little at the ears, "I've been wanting to wait for…something." _

_"Something? Don't you mean someone?" _

_He shrugged again, "Maybe." Bright blue eyes hesitantly blinked up at jade. "I really did think you had figured it out." _

_"It's hard to think of you as being anything but Omi." _

_The boy's lips fell into a bit of a tightened line. "Yeah. I've noticed that, too." _

* * *

_...it's been a long time since the last update...hope you enjoyed--now review!_


	7. Crimson VII

**_

* * *

_****_Dyed Crimson_**  
_By the Weaver Atropos_

* * *

**_Dyed Crimson, Crimson VII_**

"Have you ever tried anything other than strawberry?"

"I have, actually," Ken licked at his ice-cream in thought, "I had vanilla once, but it tasted too much like milk, which I don't like…and a friend made me try chocolate, but it was too sweet and bitter at the same time."

Aya raised a brow at that and sucked pleasantly on his three-scoop chocolate tower. "I like strawberry the best."

"It's red," Aya noted absently.

"Like your hair," Ken smiled a little and sighed, curling his tongue out a bit further and drawing in some more of the cream. "What about you? Ever tried anything other than chocolate?"

"I tried cherry. It was awful. Bitter and…syrupy. Reminded me of cough medicine. I decided never to try anything other than chocolate after that."

"So you've never tasted strawberry?"

Aya shrugged, "I figure since its pink, too, it'll taste the same."

"No. Cherry tastes awful. Strawberry's different. Sweeter. Here," the brunette inclined the cone towards him, "…try some."

The tall redhead, sitting as he was on the park bench, a span of less than a foot between them, regarded his companion—and the ice cream cone held within his outstretched hand—pensively. Then, closing his eyes without a second thought, he leaned over and pressed his lips to those of the young man. He could barely pick up on the taste of something that wasn't quite chocolate and wasn't quite vanilla either. He pressed closer, opening his mouth a little, and could hear the other suck in a soft breath at the peck. He pulled away then, smiling almost to himself and looked at his hands to find that a few droplets of strawberry cream had fallen from Ken's melting cone to his palm.

He brought his hand absently to his mouth, not quite thinking much, and darted out a soft, pink tongue to lick at the spots. Not thinking anything of it, he licked his lips with a sigh and nodded. "I like it."

He hadn't been looking directly at Ken, or he would have noticed the looked on his face.

The brunette licked at his own lips, the remnants of the sweet starting to dry stickily on his lips, and he took a bite from his cone before it ended up a melted mess. "I knew you would."

"We should get going, Omi and Youji should be back soon."

"Yeah."

* * *

By the time they _were_ back at the Koneko, Youji and Omi had already finished setting the table and were spooning portions of lo mein on each of their plates. Youji waved at them in greeting when he noted their arrival.

"We were getting some ice cream," the brunette murmured by way of explanation.

"Oh? It's a good thing we didn't buy any then. Omi and I were thinking about getting some for later."

"Oh, yeah—" Omi looked up from his plate, frowning in thought, "Manx called earlier. She said she and Persia visited Yamoi's building with the police chief investigators this morning. It reminded me of the decoy mission by the cave. Somehow, I think…" he paused and turned blue eyes on Ken, "…I think what happened proved for the better."

"What?"

Aya turned quiet eyes toward the blonde, wondering too—like the vocal brunette—why the blonde had said what he had.

"Well," Omi didn't seem to want to go on, "we all forgot it in between what happened and now…but—the whole impersonation issue, the decoy mission, that whole thing. Nothing…nothing happened. There was no trap, was there? I was at the actual decoy mission, and nothing happened. Yesterday I couldn't hit Yamoi's with the rest of you—and granted, I wasn't in the building…but everything—everything seemed fine, didn't it? There didn't seem to have been a trap, right?"

Amethyst eyes narrowed, "No trap."

Youji swallowed noisily, "…I don't like it. There weren't even any real injuries."

Nevertheless, Omi persisted, "I don't understand. Why make a big deal out of this whole impersonation business, and not follow through? Ken wasn't kidnapped—Aya wasn't harmed on _this_ last mission, and he was himself. It all seems incredibly…anticlimactic. As though we were expecting this—atrocity—to happen, and we're sitting here, just like before."

Aya turned cautious eyes in the brunette's direction. He had gone back to his food, chewing thoughtfully, red tresses curling around his ears and neck. "Everything's like it used to be, isn't it?"

His eyes narrowed further.

_"You just need the right incentive. Anyone can go insane given the right trigger—the right motivation. Type ones are necessary to the team. They become the one incontrollable trump card that every assassin group needs. They're unstoppable—they have no conscious, no regrets. They go for the targets like they're told and enjoy it. They're the true white beast of the night."_

Youji frowned, "It _is_ true, though. The decoy mission was…the soldiers weren't even specifically targeting Ken—not that they would have had any success if they had, the way he was going—" he paused at Ken's glare, "…but—there was no indication of anything being particularly wrong. There were no bombs, no Schwartz, no Schrient. It's…odd."

"And today, Kritiker just tells us to back off."

Aya's head snapped up, "What was that?"

Omi nodded and took a drink of his pepsi, "When Manx called she said the impersonation was to stop immediately. She wanted Ken to dye his hair back, actually—didn't want anything that could be indicative of his participation."

The redhead looked backed toward Ken, who was spooning some noodles onto his fork. Omi bit his lip at Aya's expression, but continued, "She said no further attempts were to be made to draw the attackers that were interested in your capture. Meaning—no further efforts were to be made to draw their attention to Ken."

"You know something." It was Youji.

"Persia did it," he looked towards Omi as he said it, watching the boy's face fall inevitably, "He's the one behind it."

"What was he trying to prove?"

"His theory. We've all heard it before, haven't we? Type one or two?"

Youji nodded, "I don't understand."

"The right trigger sets off the Type one into an invaluable asset."

Amethyst locked on chocolate at the words. The brunette put down his fork and reached steadily for his drink. He let his eyes linger on Aya's as he drank.

"So? There aren't any type ones. Persia said every member of Kritiker was given a psychological profile upon entry. And if there _are_ any, then they're few and far between."

But Aya wasn't listening anymore, he was looking at the brunette—at the faint smile he had on his pink lips.

"It doesn't make any sense."

* * *

"So that was his purpose?"

Ken heaved a sigh and swung his legs alternately from his perch on the edge of his bed. "Bright man."

Aya glared, "He's playing with our lives. I don't like it. Not at all."

"Does it matter?"

Ken looked at him, that same little smile he'd been sporting at dinner dancing on his lips, "It isn't as though you're involved in this."

"He put us all in danger."

"As far as he's concerned, he's saving a few lives by doing so. It's not that big a deal, Aya."

Aya stood gruffly, tousling his hair with his hand, and turned his back to the brunette. "Don't let it bother you."

Ken hopped off the bed and made toward the redhead, wary of approaching him from behind. He could see the tautness of Aya's jaw even from where he stood, and knew the redhead was less than pleased at his quick acquiescence of Persia's behavior. But what was there to do about it?

"Aya…don't—think about it too much."

The tall man spun around, pinning Ken with his glare. He didn't say much. He had never been one for words. Instead, he took hold of the brunette's wrists, clenching them within his own, and pushed the other backward with his body. He forced the younger man to take backward steps until the juncture at his knees met the bed and gave way, his body falling back, aided by gravity.

Ken watched him, his eyes decidedly expressionless, and reached a hand upwards to caress at his cheek. His eyes softened a fraction as his fingertips found the curve of the redhead's jaw and he sighed a little despite himself. "Don't think about it."

But those words only made him angrier—they made him hate Persia all the more.

And Ken could see it in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak—to tell him it didn't matter, but the redhead beat him to it all, and soon hot lips were at his mouth, angry, hurt, and demanding. They reproached his easy acceptance of what Persia had done to him and they commanded an answer.

It was different. He had thought about it before, admittedly, but he had never thought it could happen. And, even though it was exactly what he'd dreamed, it was so different. He could breathe in Aya's distinctive smell—that cologne combined with that manly odor that was unique to _him_ and no one else—he could look into those amethyst eyes and see their need, their despair.

He could hear the redhead's heart beating maddeningly hard and fast at his chest.

And somehow, despite it all, he'd never really considered being at the receiving end of it all. In his mind it had always been Aya smooth, milky flesh that he'd been kissing and caressing. It had been Aya who had been shifting pleasurably beneath him. It had been his eyes that had been looking up at _him_.

Aya kissed a little around his jawline, dipping to the crook of his neck before pausing. He breathed in slowly and exhaled leisurely, puffs of cool air teasing the warm tingling skin of Ken's neck. Somehow, despite everything, he had enough outward consciousness to realize that Ken was letting him do as he like, staring at him with soft chocolate eyes that belied everything that had been going on so far.

It was he who found his lips when his mind began to succumb to logic; when his blood began to cool and he began to contemplate pulling away, it was Ken who wrapped his arms about his neck and crushed him forward. It was Ken who kissed him slowly and tenderly, and passionately, and almost desperately.

And he really couldn't remember much of anything except that moment; and with every moment that passed he forgot the moment that had been before it. Every step—every second, was a new memory that had to be erased to make room for the oncoming one. It was a sludge of sentiment, of touches, of shivers, and of pleasures.

And he kept forgetting every bit of it just as it happened.

* * *

They met at the roof the next afternoon, just as night was about to fall. Ken was wrapped in a bright white blanket that Aya had pulled out of some closet and was sitting up beside the redhead, his back only just resting on the man's chest. 

"It's really beautiful."

Ken stared out at the burning sunset and smiled, "It's vibrant, loud, shocking and melancholic death."

"You like that about it."

"Yeah." A strange sort of smile graced his lips and he turned toward the redhead, examining his face interestedly, "I think that's what's beautiful about the sun. It dies…and is reborn the very next morning. I think…it exemplifies the overall power of death."

"You're being morbid."

"I'm being honest," he squinted and looked away.

"What's wrong?"

"The hue's bothering me a bit."

Aya turned towards the burning sunset and frowned.

"It's red," Ken turned towards Aya, that strange smile on his mouth again, "It reminds me of you. And of how I keep seeing you…that hair of yours—matted with a darker shade of blood…pooled at your feet, around your head, over your body."

Aya tore his gaze from the brunette and back to the sunset, "I inspire that much poetry?"

Ken chuckled despite himself, "It's enticing—how you're not scared of what I see."

"I don't see reason to be. I see the exact same thing when I look at you."

The brunette's brows knitted slightly. "We have the same hair, you know."

"Mine's dyed."

"So? How are you so sure that the face you keep seeing in your dreams isn't your own, done up with my hair and eyes?

Ken smiled a little again, "Might be. And it's crimson, not red. Crimson's darker."

He reached out deliberately, capturing a clump of Aya's hair in his palm, "Your hair's that color—crimson. The color of death."

"By that you mean blood."

The brunette shrugged and looked back toward the sunset, refusing to look away even if the colors tweaked at his nerves. Finally, he sighed and stood, making his way toward the railing and looking over the siding at the edge of the roof. "We're pretty high up."

"Relatively."

"But you're still not scared." Ken regarded him oddly, chocolate eyes focusing almost wholeheartedly on him, "Is there anything you _are_ scared of?"

Aya nodded, looking him full in the face, "A lot of things. Your dream, for one."

"You're afraid of dying the way you do in my dream?"

"I'm afraid of you dying the way you die in your dream."

"You're bent on that, aren't you? You really think it's me?"

Aya nodded.

"I don't. Wanna know why? Because…whenever I see you in that red mess—I see someone else standing off to the side…and he has a katana in his hand, and his eyes are amethyst, and he has an earring dangling from his right ear…and his hair is dyed crimson and brown roots are showing all the way down to his forehead…but he's so entertained by the colors—by the pool of red at your feet and the red wisps of hair before his eyes, that he can't see anything but the red. And it drives him mad. Do you know who I see?"

The redhead studied Ken quietly, already knowing, but letting him continue, nevertheless. "I see me, standing over you…enthralled by it all."

Ken looked at him intently, his hands just barely curling around the fabric of his shirt. "…Still not scared?"

Aya remained as he was, drinking in the sight of the man in front of him before relaxing a little. "There's no use being scared over matters I can't control, is there?"

Ken was taken off guard by the comment. For a moment, his eyes lost that gleam that had come over them, and his brows tightened in the expression that he had long ago stopped using. That expression of confusion that the old Ken had always worn. The look that said so much about his simplicity, and loyalty, and affection.

Aya stared at this momentary flicker, wishing he could fix it in his mind, and moved forward, enveloping the smaller youth in a hug that was so desperate, that it left Ken near breathless. His eyes widened a fraction before he returned the hug, his eyes darkening a shade and gleaming with a pronounced loss of focus.

_There's no use being scared over matters I can't control, is there_?

_Owari._

* * *

Anticlimactic, I give you that. Ended off on a more somber note than I intended. Original ending was changed a bit from what I planned, though…in a way, I guess you can say the story can be a bit of a bridge between Kapitel Ken and Gluhen Ken. So…thanks to all those who reviewed, and to Seph who I spent a long time discussing (a _long_ time ago) the possibility of a fic where Ken goes insane…more or less. Thanks! 


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